Ta - Kitair (The Fate of the Wheel)
by vOceanic
Summary: The Fate of the Wheel is still precarious. As the Ta continues to turn, all Runeterras hurtle through the past and future, towards equally likely destruction and redemption. Will Ezreal destroy all he loves? Will King Ryland finally ascend his rightful throne in Noxus? (Mostly OC. Ryland, Erinae, Demetrius & Caelyn, etc).
1. Captured

_N.B. "vOceanic, _A True Champion _still wasn't over?" _

_What? No. It's over, especially for those who bitc — ah. Uh. Offered constructive criticism about its length. _

_This is a different story. Sort of. 90% OC, lots of Noxus. _

_It's really my birthday present to myself. Writing whatever I want without fear of ramifications. In a way, it's a farewell, too. Not that I won't write more fanfic in the future, but following the conclusion of this, I'm devoting more energy to writing more serious, (potentially) publishable stuff. _

_(There will probably be another lemon fest when I get fed up with writing OC non-fantasy shit). _

_If you're here because you're bored, or — heaven knows why. I hope you enjoy. _

* * *

"'I suppose there is a measurement of self-righteousness involved,' General Stephen Raeford admitted, stroking his Dove Sterling's hair. 'We take these unwanted boys, forbid them from military service. And we watch them grow into what they could've been without the king and their country crushing them.'

Indeed, of all Noxian demographics, the Willow-Doves boast the highest rate of literacy. Following their servitude, they take up occupations as disparate as accountants, surgeons and museum curators.

Or, if you're General Caelyn Falin, you become the greatest war hero Noxus has ever seen."

— _Casteel White, _a commemorative publication of _Songs of Noxus. _Dedicated to Caelyn's 250,000th kill.

* * *

"How does she do it? We interview Luxanna Crownguard for tips on surviving the Demon Dove."

— scrapped Demacian newspaper article. The interview was forbidden by King Jarvan III.

* * *

_Ryland. _

Ryland fought it — the voice. In his misty dream, he and Ezreal were in a lustrous white-marble castle, reclining on thrones veined with rich gold and upholstered with plush velvet.

Green-eyed Aven was asleep on Ryland's lap, his cheeks a warm blossom pink, his skin as soft as Ionian feather blossoms. Luxanna, gorgeous in silver, was cradling Ezreal as he dozed, murmuring words of love into his golden hair.

Everything was alright again — saved. Ezreal had saved him. He had a soul.

_Ryland. Please. I know you want to sleep. _

No. He _needed _to sleep. If he woke, the pain and cold would rush back in and drown him. He felt fingers playing along the fresh welts on his jaw and braced himself.

_They need you._

There was no need to explain who 'they' were. The brothers.

And because he was Ryland Whitefield, he opened his eyes.

He immediately flinched away, hid his face, shaking. The night-haired, gray-green eyed speaker was twice as broad as himself, with arm muscles that bulged beneath his white shirt like boulders.

His own voice hurt his ears. "Please. Please don't hurt —"

"Good gods. You forgot me already?" A chuckle. "It's nice to actually see you, Sir Ryland. Though you're a bit ganglier than I expected."

_I know that voice, _Ryland thought, then clutched his temples. He ignored the stifling, metallic smell of blood. It wasn't pain and cold rushing in, but a waterfall of memories. Too much. Fire, burning, gold, red, Oliver, hell, his mother —

"Easy." The speaker was gently rubbing the burns on his jaw. "One thing at a time."

Ryland felt strong hands lifting him away, hefting him effortlessly through the air, then placing him on a bed of grass. It was full of cold pebbles that dug into his sore skin. Then he heard the sound of someone settling beside him and cracked an eye open.

His chest — it hit him like a shot of morphine. Warmth flooded him, chased by refreshing relief as crisp as a mountain stream.

Ezreal, still asleep. His cheeks were dotted with blood and there were tear tracks on his face, but the tawny Explorer was there beside him. So it was okay. Whatever it was.

The other man sat near them, cross-legged. Handsome. Strong, healthy, but pale. The Guardian waited patiently for Ryland to recognize him, ignoring the way Ryland cringed when his huge hand settled on the back of his neck and began to massage it.

_It felt good, but that didn't matter. Never mattered. It was always preceded or followed by pain. _

Ryland swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

"Skylan."

"Oh." Ryland frowned. Next thing he knew, he'd bolted upright, spraying Ez with pebbles. The Explorer groaned and rolled over. Ryland was clutching Skylan's shoulders and shaking, trembling like branches in a high wind. With eagerness, with anticipation of warmth. At last.

"Where is he?"

Sadness filled Skylan's eyes. "Ryland —"

"Where's he at? DoIfinallygetto —"

"Ryland." Skylan's voice deepened.

"B - but the kiss." Ryland shivered. "Or — just to see him, I —"

"He's not here."

"What?" Something crucial inside Ryland tore. Glassy pain ate into his chest, then dug into his lungs. There were shards in the bottom of them, he knew it, glass shards cold and shiny like ice.

"He's not here." Skylan smiled, but it was all pity and bitterness.

Ryland could only stare. Around them, the dead, black forest clattered against itself in a stiff winter breeze. The wind, too, lifted some of the corpse-clothing and fluttered it with a sound like pages turning.

_Not here…? _Ryland felt his eyes burn and scrubbed at them.

Then he abruptly burst into tears he couldn't contain any longer. They were quiet, but insistent. And hot in the empty, cold air. They burned his cheeks.

Skylan gathered him into his arms with a sigh, wincing at how light he was, ignoring the abstract pink blood stains from Ryland's cheeks against his own dirty white shirt.

_Gods, he really does feel like a sack of leftover dinner bones. _

There was a strange, surreal moment — Skylan was holding the stuff of Aven's daydreams, after all, and he was so terribly fragile — but it was replaced by empathy and the simple act of comforting.

On the ground, Ezreal opened his bleary blue eyes and stared into the colorless sky. He had a headache, a nasty one that throbbed right in the center of his forehead. Despite trekking over Runeterra multiple times, he didn't recognize the field, the black trees, the harsh gray mountains above. And certainly not the corpses piled a little ways away.

"Ryland?"

Ryland wanted to answer, but couldn't in anything other than a sob.

Looking critically at Ezreal, Skylan thought, _Another unstable blondie. Aven's brother, apparently. _

And Skylan was programmed to — love him? Like him? The Guardian thought he felt a brief sunflare of appreciation in his chest (_he's rather handsome)_ and shoved it away.

_Ezreal's unpredictable. _Ryland's thought-voice was faint._ He hurts me. _

Skylan opened his mouth to comment on the latter part, then thought better of it. _Never fear, Sir Ryland. I can handle him._

He made his voice rumble like thunder through the Freljord air. "Hail, Tai-Aitah. Hail, Wings of the Wheel."

Ezreal groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. "Please. No more."

"No?" Skylan smiled. "Tired of being god?"

"Never wanted to be." Ezreal licked his lips and swallowed hard. The air was frigid, arid. Dry.

"Odd." A particularly rough sob shook Ryland, and Skylan held him tighter. "Thought everyone wanted power."

"No. I want to go h — oh. Skylan." Ezreal sat up, the last vestiges of his aura fading away for the first time in months. The muscles in his body protested the movement — they squealed and burned — but he ignored it, openly examining the Guardian instead.

Ezreal was a splash of color in the dingy, mute-colored forest. Gold for his hair, scarlet for those scars. And Skylan found the stormy blue of his eyes attractive.

_Because I want to? Or because I'm supposed to? Godsdamnit, Sir Ryland. This is already too complicated. _

Ryland's faint voice. …_I'm sorry. _

Skylan sighed. _Wonderful. _"Greetings, Ezreal. Suppose our meeting's been a bit delayed."

"Mhm." Ezreal rubbed his head, frowning. "Sorry for calling you a fag to Aven."

Skylan's eyebrows rose. _Well, he's certainly a charmer. _"Apology accepted, though I have no idea what you're talking about."

"And I burned his wrists," Ezreal mumbled, looking down. He'd never craved Lux more in his life. And holding him — she'd seemed so real. Just as real as Ryland sitting in the throne beside him.

"You burned them? I broke them." Skylan shrugged. "I can't really be mad at you."

That got the Explorer's attention. He cocked his head as he checked his hands and arms for wounds. "Really? Everyone else seems mad at me."

"I don't happen to be everyone else." The Guardian looked at the sky. "Though I can be mad at you, if you honestly want me to be."

There it was — the slight smile, a curve of his lips against the gray-green grass. Aven's smile.

Skylan's thought again: _He is quite handsome. _The Guardian's jaw clenched. _Absolutely not. Programming or no. _

Ryland pulled away. His lips were quivering. "W - where is he? I thought — the dark and —"

"Can't say. His dead father pulled up on this weird bone-dragon thing, riding it a bit like a Piltover Customs motorcycle." Skylan saw Ezreal grin. _He has Aven's sense of humor. Too easy. _"Then he dragged him onboard and there he went. Into the wild blue Hereafter."

Ryland's breath caught. "Is he — he's not dead?" It hurt to talk. Besides the scorched flesh on his jaw, the skin around the red was coated in thick black bruises. The back of his neck still bore a large dusky mark from Death's boot.

"Nope. Wheel's still a'spinnin'," Skylan said cheerfully. He wasn't surprised when Ryland's shaky, accusatory voice chimed in his head.

_Why aren't you upset? _

_Not too good at emotion, Sir Ryland. Seems you've got the better hand at that. I'm terribly upset but I hide it. _

_Oh. _Ryland nodded. Skylan watched him bite his lip. Watched his composure crack again — his eyes squeeze shut. And held him close. It was a cycle, after all, and Life was a Wheel.

"I thought he'd be here." Another helpless sob into the empty air.

"I know. He thought he'd be here, too." Skylan stroked his black hair. Ryland's body kept twitching in anticipation of pain. It was unused to receiving comfort and didn't know how to react, so he flinched whenever Skylan's hand made contact with his flesh. The Guardian noticed Ezreal watching them, frowning.

_Good gracious, what a mess. _"What, kid? Am I not allowed to hug him?"

_Oh gods, _he heard Ryland think. _Don't provoke him. _

"He's mine," Ezreal said flatly, blue eyes gleaming faintly with suspicion.

"Trust me. I believe you." Skylan nodded and shifted his weight. He thought he saw one of the corpses move, but it was just the wind again. "Actually a bit jealous."

"Why?" Anger already there in his voice, a thin rivulet of red beneath the word.

Ryland cringed. _Skylan —_

_I know what I'm doing, Sir Ryland. Relax. Honestly. _"I don't get to have a best friend as good as yours. You know? There won't be someone for me so nice, and faithful —"

"And smart," Ezreal added. His smile was brilliant. It sent a little shiver down Skylan's spine, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. "And talented."

"See? I know he's yours. I'm just trying to help."

"I just —" Ezreal scratched his head and laughed, suddenly self-conscious. _I'm so out of it. _

"You don't want me to fuck him." Skylan half-smiled. "Understood."

"Wh — that's not what I meant." His cheeks filled with color below the light blush from the cold. _That's exactly what I meant. _

"Not my type." Skylan grinned. "Either like lasses with huge tits or my scrawny useless slip of a husband."

He felt the jolt run through Ryland's body as Ezreal chuckled. _I talked of Aven like that before. Remember? _

But —

_I called him a sandwich-mad youngling, remember? And a crazy little fuck? Calm, Sir Ryland. _

_But — _

Skylan squeezed the back of his neck. Ryland went still. _Calm. _

"Yeah. So dad — Ian, I mean. He was here, too?" Ezreal looked uneasy.

"Mhm. Ian of Piltover. Same in our world, too, you know." Skylan leaned back and let Ryland stretch out on his chest. "I didn't even know that bastard was Aven's father until a year after we dated."

"Really? Everyone knew he was my dad." Ezreal's face darkened. Thoughts of Luxanna were threatening to break through the protective layer of cold, gray glass shielding his thoughts. It didn't help that he could feel all of Ryland's weighty despair ringing through their mental link.

"No, I didn't. Not until the peace parade bringing Noxus and Demacia together. Ironically. Cannons went off after the Generals marched by with their Doves. Aven burrowed into me — bit like a meerkat, actually. Freaked out. I had to hold him." Skylan sighed, half-nostalgic. "We were on a dais up front, as I'd won the Fleshing. In front of all Runeterra. If we weren't out before that —"

He noticed a brief, undisguised flash of envy in Ryland's tearful eyes. _Whoa there, Healer._

_I — _Ryland shook himself, trying to stop the next wave of crying. Jealousy, pain, weariness, disappointment. They were rocking his mind in a choppy sea of gray and umber.

Ezreal was genuinely curious. "How did that make you figure it out?"

"When Ian blew himself up in this world, Aven was there with him. The explosion, the heat, the — oh, I don't know — screams and wails of the dying. He hates loud noises."

"That'd do it." Ezreal spat. "So what do we do now?"

Skylan paused. _That was fast. Aven'd want to camp out for a week or five. _

_He wants Luxanna, _Ryland thought, tired. _Always Luxanna. _

The Guardian nodded. "Well, kid — if I can call you that."

"Sure." Ezreal leaned forward and regarded the two Moon Children with eyes like sapphire. Skylan felt a warm tingle in his wrists — where his heart beat — and sighed internally. "Well, we've got two Empaths and the God of Destruction. Figure we can do whatever we damn well —"

"Save Lux." Ezreal nodded.

Ryland swallowed a crushing wave of salty tears. "And — and probably Aven. Just so — I mean —" He fumbled for words at the look of distaste that crossed Ez's face.

"Yeah. We don't want him to die." Skylan flicked Ryland's chin. "Aven was muttering something about how the barbarians thought you two were gods."

"Mhm." Ezreal sighed wearily.

"So it's easy then." Skylan shrugged. "We figure out how to rip back into you two's world. Was getting tired of the weather here anyway. Then we convince those damn barbs you're Aven." He gestured towards Ezreal and grinned. "Not like that, of course."

Ez shocked Ryland by grinning back. "Not a chance."

"Then we storm Death's Kingdom and get your damn princess back."

_But what about Aven? _Ryland thought. And how could a land appear so dark at high noon? The sun was a flat, pale, limp disc in a sky so white it was unnerving.

_You mock Ezreal for being singleminded? _Skylan snorted. _You heard yourself lately, Sir Ryland? You and I can take care of the Suncatcher ourselves. _

_Suncatcher? Who? _

_Pet name for him. I'll leave you to figure that one out. _

Ryland thought, then turned pink. _…Oh. _

_Aye. He doesn't bring much, but takes a whole lot of it. _Skylan cracked his knuckles and noticed Ezreal was watching. "So? How's that sound?"

"Good." But he was frowning and scratching at the blood on his cheeks.

"Look, kid. If you have a question, ask. We be not easily offended, not in the Center World."

"You just look so — masculine."

"I am." Skylan yawned. A flock of crows winged by, cawing and fluttering. "Prob'ly fucked more women than you ever touched."

"Then wh —"

"There's always an exception. To anything, really. Always at least one."

The words were delivered with the finality of a stone god's. Skylan reached out and ruffled Ezreal's hair. The Explorer didn't pull away. He blushed.

"Can I have a hug? Not like — not like that, but —"

"Please. If liking boys was a disease, you'd have it many times over." Before Ezreal could think about what that meant, Skylan pulled him close. He was so massive that both Ryland and Ezreal fit snugly in his arms.

Ezreal nosed into Skylan's broad side and thought back to Jayce of Piltover refusing him. _What, you want your bottle too, Ez? You're like a supercomputer mixed with a fucking infant. _

Skylan chuffed. The rumble of his voice was like a waterfall. "Insecure. That's what that is. Real men give hugs."

_Really? _Ezreal wondered, happy in the Healer and Guardian's combined warmth. He already liked Skylan and wasn't going to think twice about how or why.

"Aye. How about you two relax while I get dinner? Away from our unwanted guests?" He nodded towards the dead.

Somewhere in the decaying woods, a bird of prey called, high and lone and lonely.

Ezreal smiled, and Ryland felt some of the tension in his heart melt.

"Sounds good."

* * *

_A Few Hours Ago_

Things in the Southern World, however, weren't going as well.

Aven watched as cathedrals blew past, the eaves of houses with golden angels roosting atop them, awnings of blue and gold. One shiny blur with the wind screaming in his ears.

_Reminds me a bit of flyin' with Skylan. _

Only the sickly-sweet smell of decay wafting from the Garn Wrym's nostrils replaced Skylan's clean, deep pine scent, and the hands on Aven's wrists were rough from wear and tear instead of martial arts training. Aven glanced up, caught a glimpse of the smoldering hatred in Ian's eyes, and looked away.

Death's warmth was a little too intimate.

They circled the golden spire, the Garn Wyrm's limp body flapping like a flag, sun winking off gold and bone-scale alike. The creature flopped gracelessly onto the hundreds of stairs leading into the temple, startling two women into dropping vases and overturning a fruit stand.

"Sor —" Aven began.

Ian clapped a coarse hand over his mouth and hauled him upward. "Shut up."

The Lightbringer closed his eyes. His shoulder — that pain was familiar. It was sprained. Had to be.

…_and of course I'd be boynapped right when Sir Ryland's s'posed to show, too. _

He sighed against his father's palm, pictured Ryland's face in place of looking around. He didn't have to see to know there were startled soldiers of all rank milling around, watching as Ian cut through the middle of them. Aven's bare feet slid across the marble floors.

Ryland's twilight-cool silver-green eyes, the color of pine needles right before the first frost. His hair of bark, too, black like the trees that rustle beneath the moon. And his hands would feel so good. Like Skylan's, but gentle. Maybe Aven could have all four of those hands against his body again. Cuddled betwixt the two of them. So warm…

He yipped when Ian hurled him to his knees, and opened his eyes to a thick, crushing crowd of — men?

A large, white bowl-shaped room, bare save for dull bronze globes dangling from the ceiling. The slightest sound echoed, amplified — it would be impossible to go unheard.

Most of them were men in dark blue armor with blonde hair and frowning faces, a few in dazzling white. And a few ribbons of lustrous gold falling past shoulders revealed femininity.

But some of them had wings. They were long, arched outward from their shoulders, ivory and silky with feathers that looked like a swan's.

Aven forgot everything. "Wings? That's amazin'!" He stumbled to his feet and flailed for the nearest one, only for Ian to grab his elbows. None of the stunned crowd had the cognizance to move.

Death's rage was so deep it took a few moments for him to form words. He tried to speak once and had to stop again. He hated the Demacians.

Venerable Saint Garamond cleared his throat and leveled his calm gaze. "Good day, interloper."

_Interloper. In my own fucking kingdom. Lovely. _Ian took a deep breath, trying to ignore how out of place his torn jeans felt among the pristine armor. "I hold before you today one who is no other than a consort of the dreaded King Ryland."

His words and the accompanying gasp echoed against the high, vaulted ceiling, painted white with clouds and silver with the starry constellation of Arcturus Major. (The Noxians called it Isonius, the patron goddess of whores).

The unease in Garamond's blue eyes was clearly visible, despite his best efforts to mask it. Nor could he hide his frown in his sandy goatee. After the phoenix burning in the sky last night, any news of King Ryland had to bode ill. This man and that burning star had to be related.

The Saint tried to meet the boy's green eyes, but they were too occupied with watching the white feathers of the wings. They stirred with the slightest movement. Reminded Aven of dandelions in a field. He wanted to touch one.

Garamond flicked his gaze to the other stunned Saints, Eagles and Commanders, then cleared his throat. "Is — is what this man says true?"

"Hmm? Oh, aye, I reckon. If anyone'd leave Sir Ryland and me alone f'more than five minutes." Aven almost didn't hear the grunts of disgust.

Though he did hear one thought loudly, clearly. Disgusted. _You've got to be fucking joking. _

Aven's ears pricked up. He tried to pinpoint the thinker, but couldn't. He knew not from whence it came.

Death eyed them all. "Well? Is this not means for an execution?"

Saint Garamond's frown deepened. "I — I don't —"

"I think you should kill him."

Ian realized how shaky with rage he sounded and knew they wouldn't. Besides, it might not work. He'd just assumed Liliana had only shielded Aven from Ian. That might not be true.

Hell. Maybe no one could kill him.

Death's fingernails dug into his palms. His grip on Aven tightened.

Garamond swallowed. "I don't believe it's grounds for an execution, although —"

"Come on," Ian snapped. He ignored the weight of around two hundred blue-eyed gazes. "He's lain with the king."

"No. Haven't, actually. Sadly." Aven bit the tip of his tongue as he shifted forward slightly. _Just a little closer — _The wing was almost near enough to touch. "Not even in the dream world."

A voice, identical to the thought voice from earlier. "I thought Ezreal of Piltover was King Ryland's consort."

Then a female voice beside that one. Defensive. "No. Ezreal — he wouldn't — he isn't —"

"Why couldn't Ryland have two?" Ian tapped his foot impatiently. "Why not? He's Noxian. Two men, a hundred. Who knows, really?"

They all watched Aven snatch for the angel's feathers and Ian drag him backwards. With a slight smile, the angel shifted his wing, leaving the boy empty handed.

Aven sighed heavily. _Today be not my day, I tell you. Not even an angel feather. _

_Good gods almighty I hate you, _Ian thought, and gritted his teeth. A surge of satisfaction as Aven's cheeks colored and his green eyes darkened.

Garamond coughed politely. "As I was saying. It does make him a political enemy."

"And y'don't kill them anymore?" Ian groaned heavily, then spotted someone familiar. "Wait. Hold a moment. Is that Luxanna? Luxanna godsdamned Crownguard?"

Lux looked around her frantically, cringing into Oliver dar Regale. "I see not what sort of business —"

"Wow." Ian laughed in disbelief. His tight hold on Aven's elbows remained the same. "Why the hell don't you have her locked up?"

"I'm — I'm sorry?" Garamond blinked. There was a slight murmuring, a rustling of voices. Luxanna's face turned a deep, russet shade of red.

"She's Ezreal's consort. Hell, that's why she's down here, right?" _And she's what stopped my son from getting another Wheel, the strumpet. _"She killed herself, pregnant with the Destroyer's —"

"That's enough," Garamond said quietly. The rustling around him grew.

"She was pregnant. Out of marriage. With my s — Ezreal's child." _I almost said he was my son. That'd just make this more complicated. _

"Who are you, anyway?" Garamond cocked his head politely.

Behind Ian, the Eagles were assuming a battle formation. He didn't have to look to know they were waiting on the word to strike. It was time to change tactics, but that was something Death was familiar with.

"Someone who wants to help. Who fears King Ryland just as much as you all do. And who thinks that life is difficult enough, without him having powerful allies." The words flowed off Ian's tongue smoothly. Too smoothly. _Wait — that's not — surely that's not true. _

_I think it is, _Aven thought to himself. Ian's steely grip on him was starting to make his bones ache.

"And I've come to turn the king's consort over to you for safekeeping." His voice rang above the heads of the soldiers. They were exchanging glances. The whispering was growing to an echoing rumble.

A louder voice. "Didn't he just say he wanted us to kill —"

"Who is this —"

"The boy, isn't he the Lightbr —"

With a heavy sigh, Death let some of the Skelgarn's energy flow to his fingertips. Aven squirmed and shuddered — the power antithetical to life was near him, atop him. It burned. He could hear it breathing in his ear, hot, rank and rancid.

Die, Life Child. It brushed his cheek. Rot in pain. The Destroyer comes, even still.

Aven's chest heaved.

Death ignored it. Oh, quit your whining. Y'can suck Sir Ryland's cock, can't you? He's darkness itself.

Aven writhed. _Why y'be so mean? _

_Why y'be so stupid? _Death snorted. It'd be impossible to get them to kill him, but imprison him?

"It'll be safest to have him under your guard, so he doesn't help King Ryland in his conquest. So, too, should you monitor Luxanna."

He watched as Garamond attempted to resist his voice, then failed. The Venerable Battle Saint turned to a tall, ox-shouldered man to his left. "Captain dar Regale."

"Sir?" _Do I really have to guard Whitefield's boyfriend, too? What kind of fucking — godsdamnit Whitefield. Enough is enough. _

"Take this boy and Luxanna to the top of the tower and watch them. You'll — you'll go willingly, won't you, princess?"

Luxanna blinked, then laughed nervously, wiping her hands on her dark-blue armor. The golden Eagle symbol glittered on her right breast, but wasn't enough to save her from Death's intimations. "I — ah — well. I don't have too much of a choice, do I?"

_You certainly don't, you dumb broad. _Ian nodded and watched as Oliver took Aven's hand. The huge man was glowering. It was enough to make Ian's mortal body nervous. "Good riddance."

"And t'you," Aven said cheerfully, without looking behind him. Instead he looked to Oliver, excited. "Well? Where we goin'?"

Oliver sighed in disgust and took Lux's hand, too.


	2. Caelyn (Part One)

N.B. Fucking _finally._

Welcome to the first part of the chapter that **means the most to me out of my entire writing career. **(So far). Out of all 2K pages.

If you clicked on this and want some real fanfic, go read Liched101's _Riven: The Road to Redemption_. It's got Quinn x Riven and a phenomenal stripping scene with much more romance and intrigue to come.

Shout out to my broski DuckedUpOnQuack for Striker Ezreal. Love you, bae.

Shout out to Aloice. Keep plugging away. I believe in you.

Drakkiron, bro — Who needs time when you write 4K words a day? Haha.

Let's go.

* * *

The hooves of the black stallion carried Darius past the city gates of Noxus at dawn. The red-capped guards barely had time to snap a salute as he blew past. Though he was tired and sore, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief against the relay horse's neck.

_Tiaminos _— an ancient Noxian word. It meant a deep, unfounded belief that one's home country would be gone when one returned. Gods knew Darius had dreamt of it often enough on the field. A black chasm, a desolate wasteland.

And after Caelyn began to fight alongside him, fire. Noxus burned away.

So the scarlet banners eased his heart, as did the black marble dragon statues leering down at him. The ornate, wrought-iron street lamps felt like old friends.

Not many others were out and about in the crisp peach dawn, so Darius sped to the military stables near Swain Manor and left his horse to the ostlers there, ignoring their wide eyes and whispers.

_And the wave of nostalgia that swept over him with the high, bitter scent of fur and sap and dry grass. _

A public viewscreen by the entrance, a strange silver touch among the wood and hay. He keyed in the Freljordian hotel's code, though Katarina had kidnapped the 'screen and was currently hidden in the forest.

The machine hummed beneath his palm.

_Come on, Kat. I know you're okay. _

Still, his heart beat heavy and thick until she answered. Her red hair was threaded with leaves, her green eyes foggy. There were scratches on her cheeks.

But she was alive.

She smiled sleepily. "You make it?"

"Aye."

"Then move and let me see."

He did so and smiled at Kat's own sigh. The sun gleaming against the cathedrals' eaves would've looked grainy on Kat's own screen, but was still comforting.

"I'm going to get a few Generals. Then we're coming to get you, alright?"

Her smile waned. "It might take more than a few. Shit's gone pretty crazy up here."

"We're not fighting. Just saving you."

"If I had a gold piece for every time I heard that one…" Kat still hadn't torn her eyes away from the Noxian dawn.

"I need you to live for a week. Then I can take care of you." He meant the words, too. Every syllable.

She met his eyes. "I'm homesick."

"Me too. We'll — talk to Ryland about it." He saw her shake her head slightly and wondered about his son. But wondering did no good. "I love you, Kat."

"Love you, too," she whispered. The screen winked off.

Darius stood still for a moment, listening to the quiet city streets around him. A moment of clear thinking was worth far more than administrative issues later. Jericho had taught him that.

It seemed like epochs, eons had passed since he'd so much as seen any of the men that had once formed his entire life. Who to go to first?

_Demetrius, _part of him whispered. _Go to Demetrius. _

He swallowed hard. No. Not yet.

His feet carried him down the cobblestone roads, pebbles crunching beneath them. Past onyx fountains of lions and tigers, past vendors of all sizes and ages. They saluted him, eyes shining.

He stopped in front of General Rowan's townhome and had a nasty moment of fear when he found it unoccupied. Windows dark, hanging plants gone. _It's a ghost town, you left, you failed them, they're all dead now. A ghost town. _

_S - sir? _Rough hands clutching for Darius' own. _Wh - where's Demetr —_

Darius clenched his jaw and slammed the door on that memory shut with a reverberating boom.

General Rowan and Isaacs had gotten married about a month ago, after a long engagement. He'd forgotten. He trotted two streets over, pausing to clasp a passing old woman's hand. Her toothy grin eased his heart a little.

Living within a block was only one way Rowan and Isaacs were close. Their proximity, and being ranked seventh and eighth, were part of why they married.

_Spent so much time together anyway, _Isaacs had said with a blush and shrug when Darius congratulated him on the engagement. _Makes little difference. _

In the present, Darius climbed the stairs, knocked and waited, admiring the tasteful windchimes and the overflowing pots of blue zinnias.

_Not blue roses, though, _a part of him whispered. _Those were Caelyn's. _

Darius snorted. _Well. I certainly remember why it was so easy to leave now. _

Before his mind could murmur any more, the door was opened by two perfect blonde boys in matching navy pajama pants. One hid behind the other with a squeak. The other one squinted sleepily at him. "Lord Darius?"

_ Been a while since I heard that one. _"Can you two go get your masters for me?"

"Are they in trouble?" the hiding one asked in a whisper. Darius almost laughed, then realized the Willow-Dove was serious.

"I — no. No. I just need to speak to them."

Isaacs and Rowan appeared moments later, hesitant. Isaacs was leading Rowan by the hand, but that was nothing new.

Then Isaacs recognized Darius and gave him a full-force hug as Rowan looked on. "Good gods! What brings an ugly old bastard like you to our doorstep? You're not a ghost, are you?"

"No." Darius grinned. "Not a ghost."

It was good to see them, Darius realized. Good to see the lean, black-haired men he'd left. They were still the same, even if Isaacs looked happier now and Rowan was wearing purple slippers.

He began explaining Ryland to them, saw their eyes widen at the name. Their Doves, Linnaeus and Asher, listened intently, faces glowing brighter and brighter with excitement.

"Risen in flame," Darius heard one of them whisper when he was done talking. Both sets of blue eyes were positively shining. _Caelyn, _they were thinking. _Baptized in blood, fallen in ash, risen in flame. At the side of King Ryland. _

He forced the sudden dull ache in his chest away. "So? Will you go?"

"Will I? What've they taught you at that League, sir?" Isaacs laughed heartily. "You're asking us? You're supposed to be telling us!"

Darius flushed. "Oh. Ah. Meet me in the town square at ten. Beneath the clock tower."

"That's more like it," Rowan murmured, then smiled and clapped Darius on the shoulder.

_Still the same, _Darius thought as he departed. _Rowan still has the same shy smile. _Darius wasn't even sure he himself had changed. Nothing had.

The same respectful nods from citizens as they passed him, as the morning chill left the air. The same blue heavens. The same statue of brave King Ryland keeping watch over them all.

Pacing through the city streets, he gathered Generals Robeson and Clive. And General Owen, who'd been eating a bowl of colorful marshmallow cereal. A few of the lower ones who'd nonetheless been good fighters. Armin, Kai, Tiravan. They were surprised that he picked them, then flattered.

When he'd gotten fifteen, he paused once more. _Why did I save almost all the higher ranking ones for last? _

_Because you like the pain to hit all at once, sir. _Caelyn Falin's voice, entirely matter-of-fact. It was his General voice. Relating the weather or the deaths of ten-thousand men in the exact same tone. _Let it hurt deeply, but quickly, you always said. _

"You're right." Darius bowed his head. Then he went to seek General Raeford and his Willow-Dove Sterling.

* * *

_Five years ago_

Darius felt Kat's grip around his waist tighten. It was pouring, sweeping rain. They were already soaked, the water trickling down into their armor in that little gap between neck and metal.

But all four pairs of eyes — his, Kat's, Caelyn's and Swain's — were fixed on the defiant boy standing barefoot on Raeford's porch.

"He's not going!" seven-year-old Sterling shrilled, and ground-shaking thunder cracked in agreement. Their horses pranced uneasily. Except Caelyn's black mare Meridian. Took more than thunder to spook a hell-mare.

Caelyn frowned. "Sterling —"

"Care not what you've got t'say." Sterling was Demacian, but from a Piltover-run orphanage. "He stays home."

"Sterling, we _need _him." Caelyn's voice was gentle, patient even in the cold rain. He considered himself and this boy the same. Both Willow-Doves. Generals' beloved pets.

"No y'don't." Sterling bared his tiny, pearly teeth. "Not like I do."

General Raeford appeared in the doorway, looking apprehensive. His Dove's forehead barely grazed his knee. "Go inside, boy."

"Not a chance. You're not leaving this house, not on my —" Those big blue eyes turned toward the General's handsome, worried face. He was clad in shadow-black armor. Sterling's voice cracked. He couldn't speak.

"I'll be back." Raeford swallowed hard and ruffled Sterling's wet hair.

"No!" They all watched as golden sparks flickered off the boy's body and bounced into the clear puddles at his feet. They glittered in the hazy gray. The Dove looked to Swain and swallowed his tears. He had to.

"Listen!" He gasped. "He's not got t'stay home for another year and thirty-three days. And if I say different, hang me!"

"Oh, I will. Believe me. This is foolishness." Swain dug his heels into his gray palfrey's sides and trotted off, rolling his eyes.

Darius blew out the breath he'd been holding. "Your call, Caelyn."

The boy — was he really only fifteen? — shot him a look. _Why do you always leave me with the hard ones? _that look asked. Darius tried not to smile. Raeford was anxiously staring at him, after all, kneading Sterling's thin shoulders with one huge hand.

Caelyn nodded crisply. "General Raeford. Stay home. We've got Thomas Flynn to lead the Kites."

"Yes, sir." Raeford scooped Sterling into his arms and held him close. The Dove was sobbing, but from relief. "Though I never want to see a fit like this from you again. Understand?"

He gulped. "Aye, sir."

Raeford's face softened. He flicked Sterling's chin. "Gracious. You've got a voice to fit fifty of you. I know that's for sure."

"Thank you," the boy mouthed to Caelyn, who nodded.

Then he shook his red-gold bangs out of his eyes, like a dog, and smiled at Darius and Kat. "Let's ride, shall we, madam and sir?"

"Of course." They clattered off to the headquarters and trotted past their troops. The cheers were strange, hollow in the storm. Kat buried her nose in the back of Darius' neck. It was chilly.

When they dismounted at the head of their forces beside an impatient Jericho Swain, Kat squeezed the rain from her hair and murmured, "You know Swain's going to give you shit for that later, right?"

"Aye, madam." Those words, still so strange with that High Demacian accent. "And normally I wouldn't, but I reckon the boy knows something. Sterling's hit the lottery twelve times in a row."

Kat's jaw dropped as far as Darius' eyebrows rose. The three were preparing to address the milling soldiers. Caelyn himself was going to give one of his rally speeches. The coming fight would be hard, and the troops already loved his speeches, though he'd only been in for two months. His self-mocking, his dry humor. His love for his country.

"What?" Darius swiped rain from his brow. "Twelve times?"

"Aye. Raeford had him quit playing." Caelyn smiled faintly. His red-gold hair was plastered to his ears, his freckles bold against his pale skin. "Sterling says the Wheel talks to him, whispers him numbers in his sleep. I've heard stranger things, by far."

Before Darius could think about it, they were on. Darius and Kat explaining through the rain what was going to happen, then Caelyn's rallying speech.

_In the present, Darius wished he remembered more of it. He only knew that it began with "Let me keep this short. Not as short as I am — gods knows I'd've stopped talking by now." _

It had them all cheering and roaring and laughing, even in the downpour. The energy carried on as they marched in formation through Noxus, the people waving excitedly to the soldiers from their windows. Caelyn waved back, radiant with happiness against the stormy evening.

There were usually nine of them up front. Darius, Kat. Fox-haired, petite, smiling, scar-handed Caelyn. Then the old twins, frowning Charles and grinning Andrew White. Then blustery Isaacs and shy Rowan. A gap tonight for Raeford. Then Degardo — godsdamned Degardo.

The battle went well, as Darius recalled. It tended to when you had a one-man inferno on your side. Went well until the last day of the engagement, that was. They still won.

But on the eve of the fourth day at twilight, Caelyn and Meridian the hell-mare came streaking towards the operations tent. Caelyn leapt off her back and dashed through the flaps. The Dove was quaking in his blood-damp boots, and Darius unthinkingly held him close.

He'd gotten hell from just about everyone the first time he held Caelyn. Even shy Rowan mumbled something disparaging about a 'pet fox.'

Darius had said, _If it calms the kid who just incinerated some of Demacia's finest troops, I don't give a damn what you men think. _Charles and Andrew White, the old twins and Demetrius' best friends, agreed.

In the tent, he scratched under Caelyn's chin and waited for the quakes to subside. The tremors shook both sets of their armor at first, then slowed. Then Caelyn, wide-eyed, peered up at Darius through red-gold bangs. His adam's apple bobbed.

_Why does he look so godsdamned fragile when I watched him roast two-thousand men alive last night? _He kneaded the back of Caelyn's neck. "What happened?"

"T - Thomas Flynn's division, sir. General Raeford's. Dead. All of them. N - N —"

Darius realized he was probably squeezing him too hard. He loosened his grip. "No survivors."

"None, sir. A bomb. Hi - tech one. Right out of the blue." Caelyn shivered and buried his face against the metal plates on Darius' chest. There was blood in the boy's hair, too. Doubtlessly he'd killed more men by himself in this battle than all of Demacia had.

Darius waited patiently for his battle-weary brain to make sense of the information. When it did, he was startled. "That means Raeford's Willow-Dove was right. Knew to keep him home. How —?"

"With all respect. We just know things, sir. The Willow-Doves do." Caelyn's pulse had slowed beneath Darius' fingertips.

No one was as calming as Demetrius. But they still helped. After battle, Caelyn could be found snuggled up to just about any General, from Charles White to Degardo to Darius himself. Even ones from the Lower Fifty got a chance to hold him occasionally. It was considered good luck.

Caelyn rested his cheek against Darius' palm and purred contentedly, eyes half-closed. He'd slain a Battle Saint earlier that day. This moment of relaxation — he considered it a personal reward.

_The touch of the Generals was enough. _

Darius met the tired gazes of Rowan, Isaacs, Charles and Andrew in the dim lamplight. They'd heard the whole thing.

"Wellp," Charles White grunted, adjusting his boots. "What is it the Doves always say?"

"The Wheel works in mysterious ways," his twin Andrew sighed. He ran a hand through his gray-black hair, wincing when his palm came away red with Demacian blood.

"I'm just glad Raeford's alive. Aren't you?" Isaacs patted Rowan's head, who nodded.

Once home —

_Tiaminos: Once the sigh of relief that their country still stood had passed _

Caelyn rode through the thick, humid night with Darius to give Raeford the news. Darius still remembered the strange fog haloes around the lamp posts. And how Caelyn's smile gleamed whenever they passed through one, delighted when they seemed to vanish.

They found Raeford restlessly shining his boots and Sterling pretending to read a book of Freljordian fairy tales, but actually just tearing at his hands. The two stumbled to their feet when the Generals came inside.

And as Caelyn talked, Raeford clutched his Dove to his hip. His green eyes were filling with horror. The Willow-Dove hid his face against his master.

When Caelyn had fallen silent, Raeford choked, then swallowed. His broad fingers entwined themselves roughly in Sterling's golden hair. "But — how did he know?"

"I'm sorry all your friends had to die," Sterling blurted suddenly. He gulped. The blue of his eyes was as dark as the depths of the Guardian's Sea. His gaze burned into Raeford's, who stared back, mesmerized. "I'm sorry, sir. But if I'd've said they all would die, they'd've made you go for sure. And —"

Darius frowned. _He's probably right. That's a hell of a rationalization for a seven-year-old to make. _

"You'd've died too," Sterling whispered. He was cringing away, expecting to be hit. "I'm sorry."

A long silence, punctuated by the ticking clock in the den. Caelyn looked to Darius, who squeezed his shoulder. He tried to ignore Caelyn's muscles trembling beneath his hand.

Raeford finally smiled bravely, though there was a tear on his cheek. Thomas Flynn had been a good man.

Then he cupped his boy's chin. "No, dearheart. Not all my friends. I've still got you." He ruffled Sterling's hair again and let him cling to the calf of his right leg, let him bury his face against it.

Later, over cups of strong black coffee at a cheap café (Swain wanted a status report now, midnight or no), Darius sighed. "Why are you Willow-Doves so damn mysterious?"

Caelyn half-smiled through the wreath of steam from his second cup. "We've got to keep things interesting, sir. Of course."

"But how did he know?"

Caelyn glanced around, then leaned forward.

His pale eyes were shining in the dingy lighting. The coffee in his chipped, battered saucer was wavering slightly, along with his deformed hand — it'd been almost five full days without Demetrius. Pushing the limit of his physical and his mental control. He should've been home under Demetrius' arm. But Swain didn't care. Swain never cared.

"We know things. H - Have you noticed not a single General has died s - since I've started helping with the Plans?"

Darius blinked. And Caelyn Falin, the Fallen Swordsman, smiled.

* * *

_The Present_

Sterling, twelve now and still tiny, peered up at Darius. His blue sandals had golden sunflowers embroidered on them, his shirt worn and tan. He squinted, suspicious. "Your son?"

Darius hadn't said a single word to him since he'd opened the door. He nodded.

"And the God of Destruction? Sit'ra?"

"Aye." Darius had almost forgotten Ezreal.

"Are you a ghost?"

Darius twitched. "What?"

Sterling frowned. "I'll go get Aaron." He was one of the few Doves who called his master by name.

Raeford, in loose jeans and a gray shirt for early breakfasting, was slightly less glad to see Darius. Those who were closest to Caelyn always were — but he took his orders dutifully.

"You want me to bring Sterling, too?" Raeford asked, petting his Dove. He looked like he already knew the answer. Hell, maybe his psychic boy was rubbing off on him.

Darius nodded. "I have this strange feeling he'll come in handy."

"Risen in flame," Sterling said flatly. He looked to Darius with blue eyes much too knowing. "You miss him a lot, don't you?"

Darius turned on his heel and stalked away.

Who was left? He gathered the Generals Iton and Wing, then Augustine Hale and his Dove Nikolai, then huffed.

He couldn't avoid them forever. Degardo — godsdamned Degardo — then the twin brothers White, then —

Demetrius Falin. He was still fourth-in-command, after all.

_You miss me, don't you, sir? _The morning wind in his ears sounded like Caelyn. It even had the same playful laugh.

Darius' ankles were beginning to ache. _You've ruined this country for me, _Darius thought back to the voice, waving to a group of smiling children. But it was a thought without venom. Just a passionless observation.

No use getting mad. Like most things, Caelyn couldn't help it.

So thinking, Darius climbed the stairs to Degardo's apartment. No zinnias here. Though there was a tall plastic ashtray shaped like a stalk of corn.

_The hell? _Darius sighed and rapped on the door. It'd be a miracle if Degardo wasn't too drunk to answer.

He almost was. Darius heard him fumbling and cursing at the doorknob before finally getting it open. He was wearing nothing but boxers printed with the words _God of Love_ and bright pink hearts. He opened one bloodshot eye and squinted.

"What's this? Another ghost?"

Darius shuddered inside. "Still talking nonsense, I see."

"Nope. Guess you're not a ghost. They're a bit more cheery." Degardo rubbed his eyes. His goatee was in disarray. When he said nothing else, Darius looked over his shoulder, into the murky depths of the General's abode. He counted at least four lingeried women and seven large bottles of beer before Degardo yawned, expelling a breath with enough alcohol on it to make Darius feel drunk.

_Still the same. The Generals and Noxus are still all the same. _

_With all respect, sir. It isn't. They aren't, _Caelyn whispered. _Nothing's the same. _

Degardo spoke at last. "So. What do you require, your majesty?"

_Majesty? _"My son's in trouble."

"You're not gay? Heavens above. This is news indeed." Degardo stretched. "Cressy? Can you let the whores out back?"

A sleepy voice. "Yes, love." A brief scuffle. Another, whinier voice: "My ass hurts!" "About to be much more than that if y'don't move, Jenna."

Darius met his eyes. "So you're a pimp now?"

"Now?" Degardo chuckled. "No. I just enjoy the finer parts of life." He nodded towards the buxom blonde who joined him in the doorway, her breasts almost spilling from her crimson-black bra. Cressida, blue-green eyes looking Darius up and down. She hadn't aged a godsdamned day, and she'd been around since Darius was a teenager in the Noxian army.

Well, longer than that. Much longer. But that's when he first met her.

She grinned. She didn't bother to hide her abnormally-long canines. "Morning, lovely."

Darius sighed again. "Hi. Are you coming with me or not, Degardo?"

"What's this? Are you asking me?"

_Fuck. I forgot again. _"Look —"

Degardo cracked his knuckles. "Depends. Did you name your boy after me?"

"Hell no. His name's Ryland."

The drunken General flinched, then looked away. Cressida clapped a hand over her perfect scarlet lips. Her ocean-colored eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Well," Degardo mused. "Old Darius of Noxus on my porch, sputtering something about a dead king? That proves it. Those Ionian beverages were laced."

_How long has it been since I heard the word 'beverages?' _"So you're coming with me."

"Of course I'm coming, your majestic magnificence. So where shall we meet? Your bedroom —"

"The town square," Darius said, through gritted teeth.

" — at six in the evening —"

"— at ten in the morning."

Degardo smiled. "I might still be drunk by then, your excellent holy lordiness."

"What else is new?" Darius rolled his eyes and left them. Cressida was whispering excitedly, leaning on Degardo's shoulder, her breasts jiggling.

The voices in his head had blended together. _Still the same no it's not. _

* * *

_Five years ago. _

Those godsdamned intestines.

The infamous Battle of Taren Mathers came early in Caelyn's career, about four months after Swain had forced him into military service as General.

They were preparing for a large, final strike. No real tactics. Just Demacia and Noxus charging at one another, dust flying, swords slinging. Blood. Death.

The excitement — electric, crackling — bounced from soldier to soldier as they rubbed their horses down and polished their armor. They laughed and swapped stories. It was the first time many of them would get to see Caelyn in action.

The top nine were supposed to meet by the operations tent at twilight-fall. Night crept in above the harsh terrain, an ashen blue-purple with stars sprinkled throughout. The silvery lights were almost invisible in the thick pyre smoke.

Darius waited. Most of them were there. Kat, braiding her ruby hair with steady fingers, elegant in her understated assassin gear. Isaacs caressing Rowan's cheek, Rowan pulling away with a blush. The stony twins Charles and Andrew White, glowering with faces like thunderclouds. The impression wasn't helped by their black armor. Raeford tapping the neck of his horse, hands itching for his Dove Sterling. And, of course, godsdamned Degardo, muttering to himself.

They waited for Caelyn. And waited. Darius could see the worry fall over the Generals, falling much as the night did. Darius himself had to swallow a wave of fluttery acid. Caelyn was never late.

When the last bit of gray washed away from the sky, he cleared his throat. "Well. I suppose we'd best begin."

He saw anxiety flash in Charles and Andrew's eyes, visible even in the battle-hardened green. They thought of Caelyn like a grandson.

He forced his own worry to the back of his mind and began explaining the mechanics and importance of their final strike. If they won Taren Mathers, Demacia would be forced to withdraw their forces and hold them close to their citadel. It would be a great victory.

He talked until his breath was a mist in the cold night air. He, like the others, was waiting. Waiting for a messenger to barge in and shout _General Falin is dead!_

But he shouldn't have worried. None of them should've.

Well. About Caelyn dying, at least.

The full, shiny moon had just arisen when a cheer went up from the camps. A cheer that surged until it seemed to shake the moon itself.

_Could Caelyn shake the bone-white moon free from the navy sky, bring its white weight crashing down atop the Demacians' skulls? Probably. _

Caelyn's huge hell-mare came trotting up beside Degardo's horse. He and his coal-black mount were even more gore-spattered than usual. He bowed his head submissively, staying respectfully silent.

Darius nodded, relieved, and kept speaking. Until he noticed that all his Generals were staring at Caelyn and his horse. Charles White looked faintly bemused, Isaacs horrified. Raeford looked like he wanted to puke.

They couldn't be looking at the tiny white flames dancing around Caelyn and Meridian — though the aura made the small, delicate slaughterer look holy, innocent, like an angel of peace.

_Then what — _Darius saw it and almost choked.

He pressed a hand to his forehead. "Caelyn."

"Sir?" Caelyn cringed away, expecting to be struck. Darius had hit him before. Quite a few times, actually.

"Are those — your reins, are they —"

Caelyn turned red. It was visible from the fire, though the Generals all had night vision. They whispered to one another, then laughed.

"I —"

"Intestines? Why are your reins — intestines?"

"S - s - sir —" Panic. Shivering.

"Yes?" Darius forced his voice to be calm. "It's alright. I just need an answer."

Caelyn's shaky breath plumed outward, above his horse's twitching ears. "I killed Saint Sarturo Leanbranch today." Just a flat statement of facts. No expectation of reward.

"Congratulations," Raeford said warmly, though he still looked revolted.

"Thank you, sir. But the forsworn bastard cut Meridian's reins, and I — I fell off." Caelyn paused. Darius saw Kat begin shaking her head. He couldn't tell if she was going to laugh or cry. "He and I — we were fighting quite a way away from the other action. The Saints like to lure me away from everyone. He died, and…"

He gulped. Still waiting to be hit. Part of Caelyn was always waiting, for he was never good enough.

"And?" Darius motioned for him to go on. He heard Andrew White chuckle and murmur _Good heavens._

"I didn't want to be late. Well, later than this. And there were no other reins around me. An oversight on my part, I'm certain. That I didn't bring extra."

"Uh - huh." Darius squeezed the bridge of his nose. He heard the crackle of a few celebratory fireworks. Noxians loved war.

"And — well — it's not like Saint Leanbranch was using them any longer." Caelyn made it sound like the most logical thing in the world. "So, I didn't really see…"

"Oh my fuck," General Isaacs muttered. General Rowan nodded, though he looked more amused than sad or scared.

"See what?" Darius fought the urge to sigh.

Caelyn lifted his chin. His hands were twitching. Not shaking, but jerking. On the intestines. He wasn't wearing gloves. Scarred flesh against glossy, torn innards. And such an earnest, innocent face above both.

"I didn't see a problem, my lord. Besides — not that I'm implicating him in what I've done of my own volition — G - General Charles White always told me to improvise in battle, and I consider him very wise."

"Not quite what I had in mind," Charles said cheerfully. His brother Andrew snorted. "But alright."

Darius could only stare. This — scrawny, shaky boy in black armor, hands torn. Golden fox-red hair. And the blue-green gore slapping against the sides of his black horse.

He was looking at Darius nervously — not in the eye. That was disrespectful, according to Caelyn. Doves never looked Generals in the eye unless expressly told to. Though he'd slain gods-knew how many troops, he considered Darius more powerful. Stronger.

He was like something from a dream. The kind you had the hour before you awoke. The hot, hazy ones, half-filled with life, where you couldn't open your eyes.

_You can't be real, _Darius thought. He didn't realize he'd said it aloud until he saw the hurt fill Caelyn's face. But before he could — apologize? Say it again? — Degardo turned on his saddle.

General Vincent Degardo smiled politely. "My dear, sweet, blood-hungry child. Has anyone ever told you that you're completely insane?"

"Sir?"

Degardo planted a fingertip squarely in the center of Caelyn's forehead, beneath his blood-soaked bangs. "That whatever the hell's going on up here — if there _is _indeed anything going on — is incomprehensible to mortal men? Do you know that?"

Caelyn flinched away.

Degardo laughed. "No wonder you've got to love the Tactician. That's the only other being that could begin to comprehend you, let alone love you back —"

"Degardo." Darius winced. Degardo's voice was rising.

"— And can you tell Demetrius, love, that I said he's a complete fucking _lunatic _for letting you within five hundred miles of Falin Manor, let alone in his bed, _let alone _near his cock —"

"Degardo." That rumbling voice came from Andrew White.

Caelyn nodded. His lips were trembling. "I — I know sir." Darius knew what he was thinking. _I don't deserve Master, not at all. Everyone knows except him. _

"And —"

"Shut the fuck up!" Kat snapped.

"I'm not finished!" Degardo roared, then seized Caelyn by the shoulders and shook him. The boy squeaked. "And when you soon see your mother and father in hell, tell them I thank them because you're the reason we have any hope of winning this thrice-damned war!"

Stunned silence. A few white embers fell from Caelyn's horse and died.

Caelyn's chest was heaving. He shuddered when Degardo released him. His mouth worked for a few moments before he finally coughed words.

"T - t - thank you, sir."

"Thank you?" General Isaacs laughed, amazed. "That was the most backhanded compliment I've heard since Degardo told a fat duchess — what did he say?"

"'Of course you're interesting, madam. There's quite a lot of you to be interesting.' That's what he said." Andrew White looked at the night sky, at the stars and smoke, still shaking his head.

Darius tried not to laugh, heard Kat's gusty exhale through her nose. _This is absurd. _Then again, almost everything about Caelyn was.

The camps were getting louder as the moon rose. Partying. Drinking and fucking. A few miles away, the Demacians were settling down to sleep in silence.

Darius brought his hands together. "Let's break. See you at sun-up."

But it wasn't over. Never was, with Degardo. Meridian the hell-mare huffed.

"And you, missy. Miss Gut-Reins." Degardo shook his finger at her, right before her muzzle. "Shut up."

"Did you just tell his godsdamned horse to shut up?" Raeford guffawed. "You're just as nutty as he is."

"What? Caelyn claims she speaks to him, and I'm apt to believe him. Why wouldn't I?" Degardo laughed wildly. "The fact that he worships a Wheel? Or that he turned some poor man's innards to strings? Of course not! What's next? Is he going to use Saint Artemis Talio's veins for bootlaces?"

_Not good, _Darius thought. But he couldn't intervene. The Generals were already wary of Caelyn getting special treatment. _Walking the line, _it was, between protecting Caelyn, but not too much.

Degardo jerked on Caelyn's arm, snarling into his face. "Your horse talks to you. She talks. Isn't that right, you little whore?"

Caelyn swallowed hard. His breaths were light and fluttery. He didn't want to answer. But one could never deny a General. "W - well, sir. She did ask for Saint Sarturo's heart. She, ah, ate it earlier."

"What the fuck?" Kat whispered hoarsely. Her green eyes were wide, glittering in the pyre light. Degardo recoiled. The rest of the Generals exchanged startled glances. Charles White looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. Caelyn blushed brighter.

Degardo looked to them. Beneath the laughter, he was genuinely frantic. "See? Even his horse is crazy!"

Darius cleared his throat. His palms were starting to sweat. They felt coated in ice because of the cold night air. Caelyn was shaking, hard, and him losing control every Noxian's worst nightmare.

"Break, please. That means stop harassing him."

Degardo ignored him. "Is no one else horrified? Truly? Not a one of you, by this — this —"

"Caelyn. Go." Darius waved a hand towards him. The boy would always listen, even if the others occasionally wouldn't. He nodded, quaking, and trotted his demon-horse off into the night.

"Are you all crazy?" Degardo sputtered. He was ripping parts of his goatee out. "Is no one else disturbed?"

"Why, no." Charles bones creaked as he dismounted his stallion and a few foot soldiers rushed to take care of it. He chuckled. "Of course not. I love watching the innocent boy I often had over for tea and cookies turn to a sociopathic murder machine at my country-leader's behest."

"Aye," his twin Andrew agreed. He winced as the muscles in his back seized. "I love it, just as I adore watching Demetrius Falin being consumed with worry. Agony, when all he's ever wanted to do is live his life in peace."

"That's enough," Darius said quietly. He kneaded his temples and waited for them to leave. Now wasn't the time to harp on Swain's — interesting tactics. _His cruelty. _

General Rowan clasped Degardo's forearm and murmured, "Don't let it get to you."

Degardo pulled away. He was recovering himself — his moods were like quicksilver. He was hard to read. But the top nine were close enough to know that he'd been genuinely afraid. He'd never admit it, though.

"Intestine reins _and _Sir Quiet-man Rowan is actually capable of speech? Without Isaacs speaking for him? Too much, I'm afraid. Too much for my delicate constitution." He unscrewed the flask at his side and chugged half of it. Darius' nose wrinkled. It smelled like engine oil.

Kat glared. "When one of the lower soldiers sees that —"

"I will promptly shove it so far up my rectum that only General Isaacs' intimate knowledge of the human ass will be able to save it," Degardo boomed. A few more firecrackers popped. A spray of silver among the tents, barely visible through the growing haze of night and smoke.

Isaacs groaned. General Rowan turned fuchsia.

"Degardo, how many godsdamned gay jokes do you —"

"An assload. Naturally." Degardo raised the flask towards them all. "Good night, sirs and whatever Ms. Du Couteau is. Keep your guts safe, lest General Falin require a bow to put in Meridian's mane."

"For fuck's sake," Katarina grumbled.

They finally dissipated, made their way towards the tents.

Isaacs and Rowan were likely going to curl up together. Their affair was quiet, almost as quiet as General Rowan himself, but fairly obvious to anyone who watched them for more than a few seconds. Their Willow-Doves, Linnaeus and Asher, were best friends.

Degardo was likely going to go lose a fourth of his paycheck at poker. For fun — he was a phenomenal poker player. He'd beaten the legendary Twisted Fate. Twice. But he loved to lose. He was a strange man.

Raeford would likely drink a mug or two of whatever shitty beer the lower soldiers had brought along. He loved to hang out with them. He was a mild man, but enjoyed having his ego stroked. It would be hard for him to sleep without his Willow-Dove Sterling tucked beneath his arm.

The old twins, Charles and Andrew White — Like Raeford, they'd both be subconsciously longing for their Doves' companionship. Ryan and Wren.

Andrew would be out, laughing with the Commanders by the fires. But Charles was often found lying with a thick, dusty tome like _The Art of Combat, _fanning the pages with his thumb.

_Andrew had recovered from their wives' deaths. But Charles — he hadn't. He wouldn't. They were twins, but their hearts weren't the same. _

When Darius and Kat were alone, she stood on her tiptoes beneath the white moon and kissed him. Her thick red braid was smooth beneath his fingertips, as were her breasts when he freed them, and her neck beneath his lips.

He carried her to their tent and uncovered her pale white skin, tossing the black armor away. There was something about women in combat. They seemed so much softer against the cold steel and hard ground, so much warmer against the looming threat of death.

He almost forgot the war entirely when he slipped into the tight crevice between her legs, inside that hot, pulsing spot. She wound her dainty fingers into his dark hair and kissed his chin…

Almost forgot it. Almost forgot the war.

And when he and Kat were done fucking, he'd gone to find Caelyn.

_For Darius of Noxus felt responsible, and always would. _

_Darius found him outside, alone, in a huddled heap among the clustered tents. Loud drinking songs — their low tremolo filled the cold air around them with warmth and dreams of warmth. Caelyn was just as distant from the other men as the pale stars overhead. _

_His teeth were chattering. He was whimpering. But quietly, so no one would hear. He didn't want to disturb their merriment. _

_Three days without his master. He could usually last another day or two. But the mishap with Leanbranch and Degardo's words were enough to make him quivery, because he was weak. _

_Degardo was right, Caelyn was thinking as his shuddered in the cold, the dark. So right. So very right. Master was insane. Had to be to even pretend to like Caelyn a little bit, never mind pulling him close and — but Caelyn couldn't think of the kisses right now. They scared him because he didn't deserve them. Not at all. Not. At. All._

_But it was alright, he'd endure it to make Sir proud, and he didn't want to bother Lord Darius anymore, and —_

_He flinched away when Darius touched his shoulder. _

_Then those pale green eyes — glowing silver, for now — looked up at Darius, filled with complete and utter trust. _

_And why? Because the Generals were the axis of Caelyn's world, the steady, stone-spined backbone of his universe. They were there to hold him and stroke his hair when he'd finished drenching the soil of Runeterra in Demacian blood. _

_Darius took his small, scarred hand in his own and led him back to his and Kat's tent, where he slept cuddled between them, his face buried in Katarina's bosom. Peaceful, save for the occasional twitch. Save for him mouthing his master's name in his sleep. _

_Darius saw Kat glance at him above Caelyn's hair and knew what she was thinking. She was infertile. She'd never have kids. This bizarre halfling was the closest she'd ever get. _

_As for Darius, his flesh and blood Michael Whitefield was trapped in that hell the Demacians called _Brightbridge Academy. _Caelyn might be as close as he, too, would ever get to being a true father. _

_He stroked the slaughterer's cheek with one thumb and watched his lips curve in a smile. _

* * *

Darius fought back to the present with great effort. Caelyn's death hurt neither deeply nor quickly. The pain was beyond deep. It was encompassing. And it was clear it wouldn't leave anytime soon.

_You know they say I'll be back, right, sir? _His nervous voice. Whenever one of the Generals sounded the slightest bit unhappy. Caelyn usually reappeared moments later with aspirin or tea or beer or the newspaper. And a smile. That smile.

Darius had to pause to lean on a sculpture of a snarling wolf. Twin streams of sweat trickled down his face, into his eyes. How could he still be grieving? Three years later?

Then he knew — he'd never grieved. He'd left Caelyn in Noxus, to haunt it. Three weeks after his death, Darius, Kat and Swain had left their city-state behind for the Institute. And with it, the memories.

Nearby, a clock merrily chimed seven. Three hours. He couldn't be late to meet his own troops.

He squeezed the stone wolf's muzzle. General Hale and his Dove Nikolai passed by, going for breakfast before the meeting. Darius met Nikolai's eyes. They were pure, blue innocence.

A little laugh, from the morning wind. _I was innocent once, sir. Before the killing. They say you were part of what ruined it. _

Darius' jaw clenched. He forced his feet to move. One step. Then another.

_And they say you'll live again, _Darius thought back. _I don't believe everything they say. _

He focused on planting one foot in front of the other, blind to Noxus' beauty. He didn't see the hummingbirds flickering around the hanging feeders, little glittering spots of sun and leaf. Nor the white camellia blossoms opening their petals towards the growing light.

So intent on walking was he that he almost missed the Whites' home, even though it was one of the largest in town. It was a sprawling brick house, lush with ivy and bramble roses, on the boundary of civilization and countryside.

Next to it — a road. But Darius didn't want to think of that road yet. Or ever.

He took a few deep breaths, bracing himself. And he waited for the wind to speak again.

It had fallen silent. Perhaps that was worse.

He grabbed the dragon's-head knocker, hesitated, then knocked.

"Just a moment!" A musical, Demacian voice.

_Are they going to throw me off their doorstep? _Darius wondered. The twin Generals had twin Willow-Doves, too. He sometimes wondered if they even had individual possessions, or just shared of a pool of them.

General Charles and Andrew White were Demetrius' best friends. Their Doves Ryan and Wren were Caelyn's. Noxus was all about connections. Connections layered upon connections.

_A Wheel, perhaps, _Darius thought, then shook his head.

All four of the Whites had refused to speak a word to Darius, Kat or Jericho at Caelyn's funeral. Perhaps rightfully so.

_They had formed a barrier between Demetrius and the rest of Noxus, as well as press from Ionia, from Shurimana. Demetrius wanted to live his life in peace. But even his grief wasn't private — the entire national cemetery was filled, shoulder to shoulder, as rain came slanting down. _

The door opened a crack, revealing politely curious blue eyes. The interest faded to something colder.

The door didn't budge. "Good morrow, Lord Darius."

"Hi. Ryan, right?"

"It is of no consequence."

_Ouch. _Darius nodded. "I need Charles and Andrew."

"Oh?" Those angelic blue eyes narrowed. Heavy doubt, with an edge of worry.

"They're not in trouble."

"I said nothing of the sort."

Darius swallowed. Ryan was — he was twenty. _That's how old Ryland is…how old Caelyn would be. I — I've watched Ryan and Wren both grow up. _

"Please. Ryan. Go get them. I —" He paused. "I need them."

Ryan vanished wordlessly. Darius dug at his arms with his nails, a habit he'd gotten rid of years ago, kept gone, then'd come back at the Institute.

A voice from down the hall. "What's this nonsense now, child?"

The same voice, but lower. "If it's another ghost I'm going back to bed. My heart can only take one ghost a week."

"Everyone's always said I've got the better heart, Charles."

"Not sure that's what they meant."

Two lumbering old men. How old, now, Darius wondered. If he himself was forty-five? They were sixty.

Their green eyes, like Ryan's blue ones, chilled when they saw him. The two shirtless brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, chests furred black and gray, Wren and Ryan clinging near to their sides.

One spoke. "Good morning, Lord Darius."

"Charles."

"Ah, damnit. Was trying to sound like Drew. Never could fool you." Charles coughed heavily into his palm. "The hell are you doing here? Zandred kick you out?"

The off-handed reference to the League caught him off-guard. "I — no. No. My son Ryland's in trouble."

He waited for the usual gasp or look of awe. But though blonde Ryan and Wren clutched one another and began to whisper, Charles merely nibbled his thumbnail. "Interesting."

_His voice from the past: "I think of Demetrius like my son." _Darius had failed their son; why should they help his?

Darius breathed deep. "Meet me at ten. Town square. With your Doves." He paused, then added, "Please."

"Of course. You're in charge." Andrew shrugged. "Come on, boys. Time to go fight over socks." He padded away without another word. Ryan and Wren were chirruping to one another in the Willow-Dove language, which Darius didn't know. But he'd've bet his soul one of those melodious phrases was_ Risen in flame. _

A thought occurred. "Charles? What's this ghost everyone's been talking about? Raeford and Degardo mentioned it."

Charles harrumphed and leaned against the doorway. "Saw it myself. Around eleven. Bright white fire, huge fountain of it."

Darius' heart stopped and started. A bumblebee flew by with a low buzz. Somewhere birds were singing. "Was it —"

"Caelyn? Oh, I don't know. It was just a terrified little boy on fire, crying 'Where is he?' No idea." Charles rolled his eyes. "Of course it was Caelyn."

Darius couldn't breathe. "But —"

"Hell. As if that wasn't proof enough, guess who came running up five minutes after he'd vanished?"

"Demetrius." Darius' mouth was dry.

"Aye. Came bolting, shirt half-buttoned, eyes crazy, hair mussed. He looked like a spooked horse. He looks at us, looks around at the streetlamps. Then whispers the same damn thing, of course. 'Where is he?' Then he shouts it. Then he clutches his heart and falls to his knees. Sobbing, choking. We all thought he'd gone to join his boy." Charles averted his gaze. "Half wished he had."

Darius' body felt cold. "Is he —"

"He's still breathing. That's all I can say for sure." Charles eyed him. "Why else do you think people aren't that surprised to see you, Darius? You and Caelyn always rode together."

Darius opened his mouth and closed it. Charles was right. None of them had been terribly surprised. _Is it true? Is it? _

The morning wind didn't answer.

Charles clapped him on the shoulder. "See you soon, sir."

_Soon, _Darius thought. Then steeled himself. The long road leading to Falin Manor was waiting.

* * *

_Five Years Ago_

Caelyn was already famous in Noxus. But by the end of today, the end of the Battle of Taren Mathers, everyone on Runeterra would have reason to know his name.

Darius didn't know that when he awoke three hours before dawn, awoke to a black sky with fading stars. The excitement, the tension was still building. Caelyn was already gone, as was Kat.

As he prepped his own stallion Gabriel, his fingers feeling frozen in the cold dark, he heard Commanders berating their soldiers for drinking too much, smelled the heady scent of spiced sausage and campfire smoke.

He was excited too, but something was troubling him. It was best to speak of it before combat, so he had no reason to be distracted. Jericho had taught him that.

He spotted Charles and Andrew White smoking and talking quietly a few paces away and approached them.

"Ah. Darius. What's eating you up this morning?" Charles looked up from his cigar.

Darius frowned. "How did you —"

"Among your own people, your face is more than an open book. It's a godsdamned smoke signal." Andrew smiled. "So? Out with it."

"It's — It's Caelyn's horse."

"Guessed it," Charles murmured.

Andrew flicked him. "And? What of her?"

Darius looked away. "How did he get her to eat the Saint's heart? I mean — I believe what he said."

"We all do. Young Caelyn does not lie. No matter how much we wish he would." Charles stroked his own stallion with a steady hand. "You're still operating with the notion that Meridian is a real horse, aye?"

"A real horse?"

"Of course." Andrew chuckled. "That rhymed. But let me ask you something." He leaned near enough for the scent of cigar smoke to pour across Darius' nose. "Do horses eat human hearts?"

Darius blinked. "I — but Caelyn said —"

"No, no." Charles shook his head. "Not what Caelyn said. Think for yourself. Do they, Darius?"

_I don't know, _Darius thought, feeling ill. _Do fifteen-year-old boys become Generals? Turn into foxes and set things on fire? Do Tacticians fall in love with people less than half their age? _

He heard a few soldiers sing a Demacian morning hymn, replacing the name of the archangel "Michael" with "Isonius," the Noxian saint of whores.

_And Isonius save me, bless me, keep me, give me thy bounty —_

_Booty, _one of them corrected. There was a roar of laughter.

He shook himself. "No. No, I guess they don't. Then what —"

"You know," Charles mused. "If you go into the stables very late at night, when Caelyn's sleeping, Meridian won't be there."

Darius stared at him.

"And if you ask him about it," Andrew added. "He'll say that she's resting. Every time. And that's all he'll say before he shakes too hard to talk. Furthermore, where were his wolves, his hell-hounds Callum and Calfax before this morning? You ever think about that one, Darius? How they just conveniently show up when he needs them?"

Darius' fists clenched. _This is insane. _"I've seen Demetrius petting them when I've come to Falin Manor."

"Aye. When you've announced your visit. Isn't that right, Andrew?"

"Aye." Andrew cocked his head. "But are they there when you drop by unannounced?"

Darius froze. "What are you saying? They can't be — are they —"

"Shades." Charles grinned. "Now. How's that for frightening?"

"No one can command animal Shades. Not for that long. Not with that level of control." Darius thought he might vomit. "They're not even real. That's — the Dark Arts are a myth. An old myth."

Charles shrugged and pointed behind the operations tent. "He's over there if you want to watch."

"Watch what?"

"Watch him and listen to him talk to them. We listened to a little of it. He's been talking to them quite a lot this morning. Probably still has nerves from yesterday. And come on, Darius." Andrew laughed. "What about the fact that they talk to him and he to they? Shades. They've got to be."

"But —"

"They're not real. That's all there is. They're his imaginary friends," Charles finished. The twins got on their saddles and headed off to start organizing the troops.

_Imaginary friends…_At the last battle, Darius had seen those wolves tear more than a few men to pieces. He crept towards the tent. And surely enough, there behind it was kneeling Caelyn, an enormous, naked, bloated corpse, Meridian with intestine reins, and Callum and Calfax. The wolves were rolling around on top of the dead man, coating their fur with gore.

Darius strained to hear him. He was talking to them. The animals.

"Come on, you two. You've got to act crazy when you're covered with blood. Otherwise I lose all my credibility." A pause. "They're only impressed if they think you're nigh uncontrollable." Another pause. Caelyn scooped a handful of the guts out and plastered them on Calfax's chest. Calfax panted happily. "I suppose you could say it's the same principle with Sir, aye. They're impressed with him because he controls me. I think he likes that. But people are very easy to control if you know what they want. Just not everyone knows, you know?"

Darius almost didn't notice Kat creep up beside him. She went to speak, and he hushed her.

"What do you mean _pick an ugly man_? He had to be fat. Else there's not enough to go around." Callum the wolf licked some of the blood off Caelyn's scarred fingers and wagged his tail. Meridian reached down to lap at the man's torn-open chest and Caelyn shoved her black muzzle away. She snorted. "Nay, madam. They already think you're crazy enough, just letting me set you on fire. Never mind me having to tell them about the heart. I actually don't recall if it was you or me who ate it. Probably for the best." A pause. "I'm almost positive it was me."

Darius saw Kat cover her mouth with both hands. He himself smiled grimly. _Insane. _There was a bizarre charm to it. Darius had seen children before, of course, talking to invisible friends. When they were scared and lonely. The quiet, argumentative tone was the same, but the wolves, the blood —

"Why the heart? Because Sarturo Limpdick Weakbranch cut my horse's reins and made me fall off in front of him. Of course I was angry at him. And I'd forgotten for the past two weeks. Well, not forgot, but — Master's been looking a little pale, so I haven't asked him. Besides — it feels and tastes good, but it's hurting him. Has to be. You know? And what was it Sir said? 'Craving blood's alright, but not all that natural.'"

Kat turned away. Darius winced. _Well. That explains why Demetrius takes so many iron supplements. _Degardo had pointed that out — asked Demetrius if he was trying to turn himself into a mining operation.

A pause. "Yes, I know you two hate collars." Pause, with tails wagging. "The hell do you mean? They're plenty strong enough." Pause. Caelyn laughed and scratched behind a wolf's ears. "Look, Calfax. I think I would know something personally about collar strength, alright? Even if it took a solid thirty minutes of begging. I think he likes that, regardless." Pause. "What do you mean _which part does he like? _Both of them. The begging and the — I swear, you two are dunces sometimes." He snapped the two sharp-spiked rings around the imaginary wolves' necks and hugged them, ignoring the blood on his shirt. Darius couldn't quite hear his other words, but thought they were _I love you all. _

_Imaginary? Shades? _But Darius could see every individual silver strand of hair, every chunk of torn flesh. He cleared his throat. Caelyn flinched so hard he fell over. He looked up at Darius from the ground.

"S - sir?"

"General Falin. Are you, ah, um." He had to clear his throat again. "Are you ready?"

"Aye, sir. Sorry again about the intestines. No one has extra reins."

"I think it'll go well with — you know."

Caelyn's eyes lit up. They were shining, silver dew-toned lanterns in the early dawn. "You want me to terrorize them?"

_Gods knows you've terrorized the fuck out of me. Out of all of us. _"Yes. Entirely."

"You've got my word, sir. Give me a moment." When he ran to change armor — there was a childlike, capering bounce to his steps that made Darius all the more uneasy — the wolves looked at him and Katarina and began to growl. Low. Deep in their chests.

"Darius." Kat looked at him. The sadness in her green eyes was almost as startling as Caelyn's — whatever that hellish little conference was. "He needs help."

"Swain said we're not allowed."

"Then talk to him. Talk to Swain. We can't let Caelyn — he's crazy. And Demetrius —"

"Shh. I know." Darius swallowed hard. The sun was rising. The sky in the east was growing pale. "He's too effective of a weapon. Once he retires —"

"He won't make it." Kat looked away, ruby braid shining. "Not like this."

"He might. I'm sure we can talk Swain into letting him retire early. Really early." Darius squeezed her shoulder. That was most likely a lie, and Kat knew it. Swain would run Caelyn until he died.

The top nine assembled at the rear of their silent ranks. Darius gave Caelyn a glance, a nod, then rode. The rest would follow single-file.

_Terrorize them. _Caelyn had stolen Saint Garamond's armor, a bleached, corpse-white suit five sizes too large. He'd slathered black paint over the golden eagle on front of it. Black triangles beneath his pale eyes, his pupils gleaming dully with red. Then the two gore besmirched hell-hounds on black, knife-spiked leashes. And the huge night-colored horse, and the intestine reins. Those godsdamned intestines.

Darius watched his soldiers' eyes turn fearful as they saw Caelyn. There was a flurry of barking — no, roaring. He glanced over his shoulder to see Caelyn jerking on Callum's leash. The wolf had hurled itself at one of the soldiers — lunging, eyes flashing, jaws foaming. The soldiers cringed away from him, and Caelyn hauled him back. There was a murmur in the ranks.

"Not that crazy," Darius heard Caelyn whisper to the wolf.

"Terribly sorry for not informing you all of our new drug-sniffing program," Degardo announced. There was a ripple of nervous laughter. "If you've got anything good on you, you're to turn it over to me after the fight. For, ah, testing. Yes. Testing." Louder laughter.

Darius sighed. They made it to the fore of their forces. They were at the top of a hill. Darius looked down, down at the wavering sea of blue and white.

The Demacians, to some degree, already feared Caelyn. So much so that they were sending five detachments of five thousand outward from this field in a star pattern, each with two Battle Saints leading them, in hopes of luring Caelyn away. For they knew he couldn't resist the siren call of Battle Saint blood. _Perhaps more literally than Darius cared to think. _

Couldn't resist Battle Saints, that was, unless Darius told him to. He watched as Caelyn hoisted his personal banner-staff, held it towards the dawning sky and letting the flags unfurl. The long, crimson flag of Noxus, with the intricate black wolf-seal on it. Then the Falin family crest — a field of red roses with one large blue one in the center.

He heard the Demacians all simultaneously murmur. It sounded like the ocean.

Then the final flag. The Demacian Eagle banner, torn and charred and dyed black, with a giant, sloppy red X painted across it. As complicated as Caelyn was, he could be devastatingly simple.

The murmuring below grew to a rumble of worry. Far away, Darius heard someone call "_Hold! Hold your ground!_"

Darius swallowed. Caelyn was smiling up at his family crest, one hand on the staff, one hand on the gut-reins. Charming. Innocent. He'd pleaded with Demetrius to put it on his flagstaff. _If I've got to die and leave you, sir, I wish to do so clutching the symbol of your n - noble family. _

Darius shook himself. "General Falin."

"Aye, sir."

"Final preparations."

Caelyn nodded, and the banner caught fire with a _whoosh_. Then his horse. Then his wolves. Then the entire top of the hill — a dancing, mocking wall of flame that almost drowned out the roar of fear from the blue-armored men and women below, their armor gray in the morning light. Yet nothing burned, not yet. Callum and Calfax sat on their haunches, pointed their snouts to the sky and howled. It echoed across the terrain, across nervous bodies. And again Darius heard the frantic shouts. _"Hold! Hold!" _

Then he heard the call to retreat. The trumpets' mournful song in the crisp dawn air. _What? _The Generals behind him exchanged glances. Degardo laughed in disbelief. "Crazy little bastard scares 'em too."

"Darius, what?" Kat looked at him. "Are they —are they just going to leave?"

"Worry not," Caelyn said serenely. His eyes darkened to pools of night. He gestured with two torn fingers. Towers of red fire sprang up around the Demacian troops, enclosing them. Encompassing them. The tiny figures were shifting about, but they couldn't leave. They looked like — toys. Dolls. Like they weren't real. Cries of _Hold, hold _had begun again, but they were more ragged now. "I shan't let them waste our time and country's tax money by dragging us out here and refusing to fight."

Darius felt his spine turn to a river of liquid ice. The horses were all prancing uneasily —

_Except Meridian, Meridian wasn't real, she was a nightmare, just a dream even if Darius could smell the warm scent of her fur, even if a real dead man's guts could slap wetly against her sides_

Darius struggled to keep calm. _He — he just — _He heard the soldiers behind him gasp, then murmur. He sputtered, then said flatly, "General Falin." It was all he could think to say. He found himself wishing that he meant Demetrius Falin, not Caelyn.

Caelyn's eyelashes fluttered. "Sir?"

"I — when we get down there —"

"Are you going to let them run free, Darius?" Charles White rumbled. He smiled. "I sincerely hope not."

Darius felt sweat building beneath his armor. The fire crackling near his horse's hooves wouldn't burn, but was still hot. "I — it's not —"

"It's not fair?" Andrew White cackled. "You know what else isn't fair, Darius? An innocent boy being forced into this godsdamned hell. You and Swain demanded him. So here he is, and your heart weakens?"

"I —" Darius couldn't breathe. He steadied himself, looked once more down at the churning sea of blue. He blinked and hoped the fire would go away. _I've got to stay strong. Our own troops might bolt. _He gulped as the fire rose even higher. There were screams, now, like the calls of some strange birds. And Caelyn's hands, steady for once, tugging on the reins of his nightmare. His literal nightmare.

Darius reached for strength, found none, and reached deeper. _They would die regardless. Maybe even to him. Hell, Darius. Everyone dies eventually. Why does it matter, now or later? _

He opened his eyes. He cupped the boy's chin. "Good thinking."

Pure pleasure on that fox-thin face, in those pale eyes. "Thank you, sir."

Darius raised his hand above him. And when he closed it into a fist, his troops charged with a roar.

He wished he remembered more of it, now, five years later. More of Taren Mathers. He remembered Callum and Calfax the hell-hounds rushing ahead of all of them, snarling and snapping, eyes white-hot, steaming spittle rolling down their jaws. Wherever the spit touched, fire sprang up. But that was something he saw hundreds of times before Caelyn died.

And he remembered Caelyn lowering his flag-staff as Meridian galloped. It was pointed on the end. He skewered soldiers on the end of it, and fire poured from the rippling flags. He wasn't smiling, at least, but he was entirely calm. Expressionless.

He remembered seeing Caelyn best Saint Lichinias Starmount. Starmount thought he was winning — they always did — until Caelyn whirled and plunged Saint Garamond's blade through his adam's apple. Darius thought he saw a faint gleam of joy in those pale green eyes. Or maybe he wanted to, to see any emotion as Caelyn killed. His face was beyond stoniness — it was lifelessness.

Caelyn flicked his blade upward, then sideways. Starmount's head flopped backwards, the gaping red slash at the top of his throat weeping, spurting blood as he collapsed. Darius heard Garen Crownguard's roar echo over the field.

"_NO!" _

Then Garen was on top of Caelyn, a huge hulking form on a petite one. Darius smashed four of the foot-soldiers assailing him away, then blinked as the battlefield got redder, hotter. Then he saw Caelyn's silver blade. Weaving through the fire, parrying Garen's strong strokes with movements like lightning, like summer rain. Another flick. Garen's sword vanished into the churning fray. The Crownguard gaped.

"You're alive because of your sister," Caelyn called. Then he whistled. Meridian came running, her shadow-black mane and tail flying behind her.

_Not real, _Darius thought, and almost died to an Eagle's sudden strike because he was distracted. Then he narrowly avoided a dazzling beam of white light that shot straight into the heart of Caelyn's fire. It was aimed at Katarina, who sneered, leapt aside and planted two blades in a nearby soldier's neck.

Luxanna Crownguard. In deep, cerulean blue armor, golden hair glistening in the morning light. One of the younger Generals. She took out a few of his soldiers with another radiant beam, a snarl painted on her pretty features.

And Darius remembered the gentle smile that crossed Caelyn's face. He dodged all of her light bindings — Meridian moving too quickly for the eye to see — then hurled her on the back of his horse and ran her to the Noxian edge of the field. Darius exchanged confused glances with Kat and Charles White, then ran after him.

_Oh gods. Please don't turn the Demacian princess' rib-cage into a kite, _Darius thought wildly. That wasn't it, but it was equally disturbing.

Caelyn deposited her on the boundary between crushing bodies and burning fire, then stroked her golden hair with bloody, deformed fingers. She recoiled, disgusted. "Stay here, madam."

"Who are you? Are you — Are you General Falin?"

"It is of no importance," he said politely. "But I wouldn't see you harmed, Luxanna. Stay, please. For me."

She opened her mouth to snap something, then saw Darius' huge, black-armored form nearby and fell silent. Caelyn nodded to the troops around.

"She is not to be harmed. On pain of death. Understand?"

_Aye, sir. _

Darius grabbed Caelyn's thigh as the boy dove back in — Meridian was a tall horse. Caelyn leapt off her, let her charge into the troops on her own, tearing at appendages and throats. "General Falin —"

"I'm allowed to make some decisions, correct, sir?" There was little of his usual submissiveness. Caelyn looked almost irritated.

"I — I guess?" Darius looked back at Luxanna, who looked at him. A skinny blonde thing surrounded by big, dark-haired men — actually. It was a little familiar. Darius laughed above the shouts, the sound of metal ringing against metal. "You're insane, Caelyn."

"I know, sir." Caelyn brought his hands together. A geyser of fire spewed from them, destroying the Demacians in his path. They fell to the side, gasping, screaming. A few of their limbs were burned cleanly off. He turned to Darius, grinning. "I know indeed. But she's awfully pretty, isn't she?"

Darius had to fight down more laughter. If he started laughing now, he wouldn't stop. "Aye. I suppose so."

He and Caelyn fought shoulder to shoulder. Well, shoulder to mid-ribcage. The Pride of the Willow-Doves' silver sword covered the gaps wherever Darius' huge axe couldn't. The Eagles fell in heaps beneath their blades effortlessly, like it was magic. In fact, the sound of Demacian voices were actually starting to quiet. That's how many of them had died.

Then a messenger ran in and hurled himself at Darius and Caelyn's feet.

"Sirs! The other five divisions are closing in!"

Darius swore. _Figures. Surround them with fire, they surround us with men. Always a balance, isn't there? _"How many?"

"Twenty-five thousand, if the figures reported earlier were true." The messenger was gasping for air.

Twenty-five? Darius looked at his men. They were still going strong, but there were only twenty-thousand of them. Maybe nineteen-thousand, now. He frowned, thinking. He had to think fast. He realized he could feel the thuds of the marching boots shaking the ground beneath his feet.

"I can handle it."

Darius looked at the boy. "What?"

"I can handle it." Caelyn's voice rang with serenity again. He closed his eyes, smiling. "All of them. So no more of our men have to be hurt."

"That's — no. No, you can't." The boot-steps were getting closer. Darius could hear their marching hymn echoing around the plains. They would pour in over the hills, a swirl of blue ink. He could see them, now, in the distance.

"I can, sir. You've just got to trust me." Caelyn squeezed Darius' hand. It took everything in Darius to not pull away, not to withdraw from those pale, innocent eyes. "I trust you, after all."

_Why? Why do you trust me when I helped put you here beside me? _"Caelyn —"

"The Wheel will help, of course. How soon until they're here, Jamison?" Caelyn knew everyone's names, even the messengers.

Jamison's confusion was evident. Behind Darius, Charles, Raeford and the others were gathering to ask what the plan was. They had all paused and were looking at one another again. "Ten — ten minutes. I came as fast as I could."

"Plenty of time." Caelyn began undoing the straps on his armor. His deformed fingers were surprisingly nimble. He let the breastplate fall to the ground. "I can do this."

"Now, wait, child." Andrew White's voice was gentle, but there was a ragged undertone to it. "There might be a better option."

"I think not. It's for the glory of Noxus." He undid the metal plates on his pants and let them fall, too, to the dust. His eyes sparkled. "This country's glory will ring through the ages. It is, indeed, the best country in Runeterra. Nay, Valoran."

"Are you going to live, child?" Charles swallowed and scrubbed gore off his chin.

"Aye. If you don't, Demetrius is going to be furious." Raeford was looking at the boy with something between fascination and fear. But people often looked at Caelyn like that.

"Aye. I'll live for him." Those pale eyes darted to each of them. "Does anyone have water?"

"I do." Augustine Hale, 11th in command, leapt off his horse and freed the water casks on the sides of him. "What do you need?"

"When it's over, pour it on me. Alright? That's all." He raised his voice. A few of the Noxian soldiers still fighting glanced up. "None of you will be burned. It may feel like it, but you won't be. I promise."

"We're all going to die," Katarina said softly. She looked to Darius. "We're dead. All of us are dead."

Darius opened his mouth and closed it. "I — He says he's going to and —"

"Cover me from them, sirs and madam." Caelyn closed his eyes and tilted his face towards the sun. The Generals circled around him. Almost immediately, a hot, eerie wind rippled over the battlefield. Everyone paused.

It felt like a thunderstorm was coming. The hair on the back of Darius' neck tingled. Prickled. When all fell silent, he was unsurprised. The Demacians' blue eyes were fixed on the sky, but the Noxians were all watching the tiny form in the center of top Generals.

"We're going to be right on top of it," Rowan whispered.

"Ah, well. It's been a fun ride, ladies." Degardo chuckled, but a tear wormed down the side of his face. Darius still couldn't comprehend what was happening. "If any of you live, tell Swain to fuck himself."

The wind picked up. It was whistling a little, now, with a howling undertone to it. Abruptly the air filled with a roar. The sky turned gray, then black. Pulsing, throbbing black. Not like storm clouds, but —

_The Abyss? The Void? The Dark Arts? _

Darius snatched another glance at Caelyn through the cloud of dust. He was at peace. Smiling slightly. Probably thinking of Demetrius. Or — who knew? Who knew what went on inside his head?

Isaacs grabbed both of Rowan's hands, squeezed them, then pulled him close against his gory armor so he wouldn't have to watch. As for the rest of the soldiers — the Noxians had hit the ground, but the Demacians were gaping at the sky, jaws almost unhinged.

Then Kat gasped, shrieked. And the other Generals swore. And Darius looked up.

The Wheel, turning against the black sky. A Wheel made of fire, whirling steadily. Its spokes were flame, its rim sparkling, twinkling with heat. It was vast, vaster than any of them. It took up a quarter of the sky, then all of it. It was getting closer. Descending, the gleaming-white spokes getting nearer and nearer. They could hear it groaning — the wind swirled into dust devils.

Darius held Kat tight and hid his face against her hair. He kept his eyes open for as long as he could, right up until it was about to crash into earth.

It did with a _boom_, with a thundering, echoing sound that seemed to go on and on forever. It shook the ground hard enough to bring Darius to his knees. The heat — it washed over them, pleasantly warm, then not so pleasant. Darius felt his skin scald, felt sweat drip off then flash-evaporate. And around them arose the sound of sizzling. Shrieking. The screams and howls of the burning damned, rising above any sound of the Wheel. The space behind his eyes turned a peach color from the light.

_I'm in hell, _Darius thought numbly. Where Wolf and Mare Shades were real, and boys ate hearts and craved blood and the hands of men against their cheeks.

He opened his eyes. They teared up immediately. He could barely see Caelyn's tiny form — it was almost lost in the sea of white flame. But his hands were upraised.

It seemed to last forever and no time at all. It ceased.

Darius opened his eyes to a drastically changed battlefield. The Demacians were — they were gone. Totally gone. Evaporated. Annihilated. His own solders were slowly getting to their feet, dusting themselves off, whispering to one another.

Darius thought there were bootsteps. It was his heart. His cold, trembling, deafening heart.

"Water, Augustine!" Charles White snapped. It was so quiet his words seemed almost tangible. "Quickly!"

Augustine jogged to the boy lying limply in the dust. Darius could hear Caelyn's gasping breaths. His eyes were wide and blank, a rill of blood streaming down the side of his mouth. The Generals upended the barrels over him, then flinched away when the liquid turned immediately to puffy clouds of steam.

"Gods. Just like a godsdamned wildfire, ain't he?" Degardo chortled, obviously still shocked. Rowan was trembling in Isaacs' arms.

"More water!" Darius ordered. The men ran to find it. He looked up, saw Luxanna, Garen and Jarvan IV hesitantly approaching them, stepping cautiously through dust where there should've been bodies. More water, more steam. Caelyn began to cough, huge, whooping hacking noises. He spat blood to the side. The sky — it was clearing. No black. Just cheerful blue and thirty-five thousand missing men. Eleven dead Battle Saints.

…_thirty-five thousand? Thirty-five thousand._ "More water."

There was less steam this time. Caelyn's eyes fluttered closed. His breaths steadied.

Darius looked up, into the steely eyes of Jarvan IV. His armor was stippled with blood. His green eyes were blank. Demacians, Darius knew, would call that blankness in the face of death "strength" or "leadership." But Darius knew it was weakness. Hiding from fear.

Garen was also hiding from fear. Luxanna was less successful. She looked at Kat and Darius and broke into tears. The glistening drops fell to the ground near Caelyn and turned to steam, too.

Caelyn stirred. His voice was faint. "Weep not, m'lady."

"Did he just —" General Raeford guffawed. "He just called Luxanna —"

"That's General Crownguard to you, Noxian scum," Jarvan said emotionlessly. He squinted at the boy. Then at Darius. "Why are we alive?"

Caelyn bared his teeth in a weak snarl. "I wish to see you live while your c - c - c —"

"Shhh." Darius knelt and stroked his cheek. It stung his fingers a little — he was hotter than feverish — but a purr started in Caelyn's throat, so he kept at it. "You don't have to talk to them."

Caelyn's eyes opened. They were entirely black. Then his pupils constricted to pinpricks. "Where — where's Demetrius?"

"Soon." Darius stood up. "Where's his horse?" He saw Charles and Andrew grin knowingly, then shook his head. _She's not real. _"Charles. Take him to Falin Manor as soon as possible."

"Up you go, little one." Charles hefted him into his arms, cradling him, and went to search for his own stallion. He rubbed Caelyn's throat. "Gods. You think you can manage not to do that for a little while? Scared the piss out of this old man."

Caelyn was purring too hard to talk. He wrapped his arms around Charles neck and nuzzled him.

Darius watched him go, then turned back to the Demacians. There would be no cheers when they returned. No getting people together, getting ready to go. There was nothing but dust, but wide, scared blue eyes.

Jarvan cleared his throat. His voice was perfectly reasonable. "You know. If any of you had summoned that — construct — I'd be better with it. But instead, it's this — child. A child who cries out for his father the instant he awakes."

"Father," Degardo echoed. He snickered and swiped sweat from his brow. "Father."

Jarvan frowned. "Yes. Did you not hear your own hellspawn say —"

"Father," quiet General Rowan murmured, then laughed loudly. Laughed so hard he doubled over. Isaacs joined him, then Raeford. Kat was next. She laughed into Darius' shoulder, stomach muscles quaking. She was half-crying.

"I'm glad you think the destruction of thirty-thousand men is a laughing matter." Jarvan's smile was empty, blank. A vestige of hate.

_Father, _Darius thought. In his mind's eye, he saw Caelyn lean down from Meridian (a Mare Shade?) and kiss Demetrius, Demetrius cup the back of his neck. He snorted, then chuckled. Then he was laughing too. _This is insane. All of it is insane. _

He turned to his waiting troops and called, "Caelyn Falin, everybody!"

Cheers. Roaring. Laughter — for what else could you do but laugh when men were men, then dust? The soldiers took up a chant of his name. _Caelyn_. Shouting his name into the faces of the three Demacians left standing for reasons unknown, incomprehensible to mortal men. Darius was still laughing as they turned and left them alone. _Caelyn and the Wheel. _

* * *

_The Present _

Darius eyed the opening of the road to Falin Manor. There were two weeping willows rustling invitingly on either side. _Come on, sir. Come on. I know you m - miss me. _

The Hand of Noxus' fists clenched. It was unavoidable.

He stepped forward.


	3. Caelyn (Part Two)

N.B. Happy Birthday to me (6/20)! This is my gift to myself. I wrote this motherfucker in one day.

**Main Wheel comes back next chapter**. Woo!

On a side note — have you guys ever tried to exorcise a demon? That shit is difficult. Especially if you're not really trying.

On another side note — this is probably wrong, but I sort of think of whoever's reading this (my OC shit) as, like, a friend at a cocktail party. Like we're in black suits, ties and dresses and we've all just watched a private screening of ATC and now we're standing around in the lobby and I'm like "Yeah dude, this is what I was working on while I was working on the stuff. Actually I put part of it in ATC, didn't I? Oh, fuck. Whoops."

"Oh vOceanic. You're so silly."

But aye, main Wheel returns next chapter. I'm just tired of being (haunted? Hounded?) bothered by this stuff.

Even though this'll only help a little.

If you're reading, though, hit me up if you wanna. Happy birthday to meeeee.

* * *

The Wheel turns.

Looking back, it should've been obvious. A brilliant, broken man. An affection-starved orphan.

But that was the trouble. Like Meridian the Hellmare, like Callum and Calfax the wolves, the iron supplements Demetrius popped like candy, the blue roses thriving alongside the road to Falin Manor — they hid things in their gray-green shadows. They eclipsed reason ever so slightly. Rounded the real world's edges, shaded them from harsh light of day. As Demetrius would murmur to a few Generals one blustery autumntide evening, _I don't understand. I can't comprehend how he's honest but lies so much. _

He said nothing of his own strange waltz with the real. Like General, like boy.

There are two main things to keep in mind. _Life is a Wheel. _And _Caelyn Falin: Baptized in blood, fallen in ash, risen in flame. _

* * *

The ban Kieran Darkwill had placed on Willow-Doves was lifted a month before the Battle of Hollow Valley. Swain undid the decree in part to represent the continuing strength of his reign. But most of it was the petition from around fifty Generals, twenty of whom were from the Upper Fifty.

So when the Generals came riding back to the stables the next evening after their loss, there was a small flock of freshly acquired golden-haired, blue-eyed boys, nervously readying first aid kits and tugging at their new clothes. Most of their thin faces lit with joy to see their masters and their huge, black stallions, so different from the proud white palfreys of Demacia. Their small fingers worked quickly, helping the tired men out of armor, rubbing down horses, and the like. Their masters smiled, too. Though tired and disheartened, they took time to ruffle their hair and thank them.

The Generals who didn't have Doves — well, they were rather confused.

Darius' most vivid recollection of his first meeting with the Doves was walking the long road to Falin Manor with the Upper Twenty-Five. It was dusty back then, thirteen years ago, surrounded by unremarkable shady forests. Warm summer twilight was falling, a long analytics talk in store. Their bootsteps churned the dirt. Their knees were aching.

Vincent Degardo nibbled his thumbnail and sighed. "Alright. I give up. Why are there godsdamned Demacian children here? Are we going to torture them? I know I'm too tired to."

The blonde children in question clustered closer together in the center of the pack, whispering.

"Willow-Doves," Robeson sneered, secretly jealous he couldn't afford to keep one.

"Willow-Doves? They look like boys to me. I could be mistaken, though." Degardo looked towards the stars. "If my bladecraft is any indication, my eyes are going bad."

"Come on, Vince. The blonde Demacian boys? The tradition?"

"The status symbols?" Someone else muttered.

Degardo yawned. "Oh. The reason why all the Generals used to hate Kieran?"

"Aye." Robeson smirked. "The cute pet housekeepers that everyone pretends not to sleep with."

General Charles White frowned impressively. "I've got no intention to sleep with Ryan. Isn't that right?"

"Aye, sir." Ryan squeezed his twin brother Wren's hand. "I sleep in my own bed."

A round of coughed laughter. Degardo rolled his eyes. "If you'd wanted children, I've got a bastard or fifteen I could loan you."

Andrew White snorted. "Please. Ryan and Wren are Crownguards. Not Degardos."

Darius, who was walking near the center and looking at the children curiously — he'd approved the lifting of the ban as well — frowned. "What?"

"You remember how Nadine and Flora were killed half a year ago?" Andrew White's voice was suspiciously cheerful. In Noxus, it was considered disrespectful to the dead to grieve for more than a month.

"Yes." Darius swallowed hard. The twin sisters that Charles and Andrew had married had been pregnant when they died. Their unborn children had been nailed above the doorway, their wives' heads arranged neatly on the dining room table.

"Well." Charles ruffled his Dove Ryan's hair. Ryan leaned into his hand. "Livingston Crownguard, the tactician that ordered our wives' deaths — he just so happened to have twin sons."

"Almost like providence." Andrew White smiled. The two boys were surprisingly hard workers. And Ryan was quite funny, Wren quiet and gentle. Of course, nothing could ever fully ease the pain of the loss of his wife and own unborn son. But they were pleasant to have around. "They were technically fifth and sixth in line for the crown. Just like in Noxus, eh? If we still had a crown, of course."

"Gods bless King Ryland's soul," General Raeford sighed. His voice was nostalgic for a time long past. "He'd've won that battle singlehandedly."

Darius' eyes narrowed. "And you —"

"Killed him. Livingston. Didn't we, Ryan?"

"Aye, sir. I don't mind though." Ryan lifted his chin. "Father was a cranky old bastard." More laughter.

"Mhm. The first thing Ryan said to Charles was 'I never liked father anyway.' Wren bit my hand hard enough to make me bleed." Andrew's smile flashed in the half-dark — night brought strange changes to the Generals. "We knew we had to have them."

"Now, hold on a moment." Jericho Swain scowled. His customary flowing black robes grazed the trail dust. "When I said you all were allowed Doves, I meant orphans. Not that you go raiding Demacia for whatever boys you like."

"It was pure coincidence. There's a lot of those that happen around Doves." Charles nodded. "The rest of them are orphans. Aren't they?"

"Aye. Linnaeus is pure, grade-A orphan." General Isaacs grinned and pinched Linnaeus' elbow. "If there is such a thing. So is Rowan's boy Asher." Rowan nodded, quiet as always.

Darius was thinking of the uproar the Whites wives' deaths had caused — the family of twins. Two sets of identical male twins, actually, with the famed Noxian author Casteel White being the youngest and the only one without a double.

Regardless. The White family was a beloved part of Noxus. Flora and Nadine were among the most compassionate, caring people Darius had ever met — they often packed lunches for the top fifteen Generals whenever the campaigns would last over a week. And he himself had six pairs of warm, woolen socks from them for Christmas…

He was distracted by the child walking next to their Tactician, Demetrius. The boy was dressed nicer than the other ones, tiny in a spotless white dress shirt and black tie, his shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing pale forearms that looked as weak as twigs. Immaculate down to his black shoes, which seemed too small to be real. His hair was more red than gold.

As Darius watched, swatting a mosquito from his neck, he realized the boy was shivering. Trembling. His pale eyes traced the movement of Demetrius' nearest hand. And when Demetrius reached towards him, the boy snatched his large, white hand and rubbed his cheek against it, then rubbed it over his entire face, finally nosing beneath the palm, letting it settle on the back of his neck. His purring was audible, even above the sound of boots and dust.

Darius glanced around. The other Generals were also watching, eyebrows raised.

He cleared his throat. "Uhhhh. Are they supposed to do that, Demetrius?"

"Hm?" Demetrius glanced up from his boy. "Whatever do you mean?"

"The — uh — the noise."

"Ah. That." Demetrius smiled. "Children are strange."

Darius waited for a follow-up statement. There wasn't one. Just Demetrius stroking his boy's neck and back with gentle fingers. His hand was the size of his Dove's shoulders, maybe a little larger.

Charles White cocked his head. "Demetrius. I knew he was a bit odd when you brought him over for tea, but — you didn't mention this part."

"Does the sound really disturb you?" Demetrius frowned and kneaded Caelyn's back harder. The purrs grew accordingly, the boy's eyes distant with pleasure. "I find it soothing."

Darius cringed inside. Demetrius Falin — he was never the most socially accepted of Generals. For many reasons.

The first was that he was both Noxus' Tactician and the intelligence gatherer and, as such, often isolated from the other men. He was always buried in the Demacian newspaper or flipping through Demacian prayer books or annotating their propaganda. When it wasn't that, his face was hidden in large, thick textbooks like _On Combat _and _Logistical Quandaries. _While the other man drank and went whoring, he stayed inside Falin Manor and read.

The main other reason wasn't nearly so pleasant or productive. Frustrated with Demetrius' odd manner, Jericho Swain pulled aside the twin brothers White after a meeting about three months ago. _What's wrong with him? Why is he so — difficult? Distant? You two are the closest men to friends he has. _

Andrew wrung his hands. _We'd rather not speak of it. It's a private matter._

_ We've got to know. _Darius made sure his voice sounded firm and sure. Demetrius had refused to speak for the past three meetings, communicating instead via written notes, which the other men found unsettling. Including Darius himself. _To understand._

Charles White had looked out the window and heaved a sigh from the bottom of his boots. _We found Demetrius locked inside his house when he was ten. _

_What? _

_His father Lachlan — he was an evil man, and I can say this with confidence. You know Demetrius had six siblings? _

_Had? _That was Darius. Not many things scared him, but the look of dead sadness in Andrew White's eyes made his stomach twist.

_Had. When no one came or went from Falin Manor for six months, my father went to investigate. He found, ah…_

_ Speak. _Swain's eyes narrowed.

Charles White breathed out, long and slow. _He found one of Demetrius' brothers dead in the living room, sitting propped up like he was alive. Recently dead. Eyes still open. Two knives, one to each temple. So my father turned and left and came back with Degardo, Robeson, Clive, Hartley and Owen senior. The fathers of the Generals now. They went through the house. In the basement — _he swallowed hard.

_In the basement, _Andrew continued, face blank. _There were three of his sisters tortured to death. A bear trap around the middle of one. Two chained to the wall in — collars. A pile of fingernails that had been ripped out from all of them. One of them was missing her eyes, there were pliers —_

Darius glanced at Swain, whose face was also blank.

_ One of the other brothers had hung himself in the washroom. _Charles coughed. _The oldest one, I believe. Demetrius was the youngest. Of all of them._

A pause. _There's one more, _Darius said, feeling deeply ill. He glanced out the conference room window. Demetrius was leaning casually against the wall outside, reading "Archangels and Faith: Why You Should Believe." He was riding home in the Whites' carriage, waiting on them.

_He was cut up in pieces on the kitchen table. Hacked. With an axe. But that's not all. _

_ No? _Swain looked disturbed now. The expression wouldn't've been visible to anyone but Darius, hidden as it was beneath the gauze on his face.

_No. They initially heard howling sobs in the master bedroom —_

Darius braced himself internally.

_So they broke the lock. He was locked in for gods know how long. And his mother —_ Charles hid his face._ We didn't know how long she'd been dead, but it was a while. Rotting. It looked like a disease. There was a lot of blood and bile. We're assuming that's why Lachlan — well. Nothing really excuses it. _

Darius swallowed. _So did you —_

_ We — Andrew and I — saw all of it. Demetrius refused to come out from behind the dresser, even though he was almost starved to death. He was hissing and spitting like a feral cat. My father figured it out. All the men were his father's age. And, well, Generals share a certain similarity of features._

_ So father came home and got Charles and I. _Andrew looked at his feet. _And while we rode to Falin Manor, father said 'There is evil in this world, but we've got to face it for the greater good.' So we saw all of it. It was Charles who got him to come out. _

Darius wondered how, but didn't ask. He didn't want to know.

_ And when he did — the doctors said he wouldn't've lived another week. He was bone. I've never seen anything like it, not even prisoners of war. Dehydrated. His kidneys were a mess. His lungs. He'd had pneumonia but recovered somehow. Never mind the stress. Luckily there was an adjoining bathroom with a sink so there was water but —_

_ The ribbons, _Charles said flatly. _They_ _were the worst part. _

_ His mother's corpse was covered in ribbons. Tied ribbons from her sewing kit. The most intricate knots I've ever seen, then or since. _Andrew fell silent, then said, _Our fathers found Lachlan in the nearby woods and killed him. Immediately. _

They all watched Demetrius lick his thumb and turn the page of the pamphlet.

_So your family raised him? _Jericho made sure his voice was neutral.

_Aye. And so we still do, in a way. That's why — he's not all there all the time. Still, he's recovered quite well, no? _Charles lowered his voice. _I'd prefer if you told no one else._

Darius nodded. _Thank you for letting us know. _

They nodded in return and departed. Swain looked to Darius. They both shook their heads.

In the present, walking the dusty road to Falin Manor, Darius' heart sank. All the Generals were watching Demetrius. Them, rather. Caelyn and Demetrius.

Degardo cleared his throat. "Has he had his shots?" Murmurs, whispers.

Demetrius wasn't paying much attention, captivated instead by the contentment on his boy's face. "Aye. His immunizations are up to date."

_Oh no. _Darius groaned inside. The child was holding Demetrius' hand in both of his own.

"From a doctor?" Degardo was grinning now.

"Of course. A registered one." Demetrius scratched behind Caelyn's ear. The boy leaned into him.

"How about a vet?" Behind him, Robeson, Clive and Owen all simultaneously choked on laughter.

Demetrius' smile faded. It was a pity — he didn't smile often. "He's human, so I'm afraid not."

"Are you so sure about that one, sir?" General Clive coughed to hide his chuckle. "I'm not — let's just say there isn't a terribly human vibe coming off of him."

Demetrius' eyebrows rose politely. "Oh?"

"Aye. The noise. Or the fact that he appears to be nibbling on your hand."

"Maybe he likes it when he nibbles," Degardo said softly. And there it was — the first of thousands, a hundred thousand Demetrius and Caelyn jokes to be made as the Wheel turned.

Demetrius flushed. The purple, hazy twilit air did nothing to hide it.

Raeford cleared his throat. He hadn't caught on to the fact that they were teasing him. He was young, naïve. "And his eyes are rather — what's the word?"

"Creepy?" Degardo suggested with a leer.

"I was going to say 'haunting.'" Raeford smiled apologetically.

"Dove? I think you accidentally got a bushbaby, sir." Who was that? Robeson?

"A bushbaby?" There was a clamor of cackling. Charles and Andrew's jaws were clenched. The boy had let go of Demetrius' hand and was looking at the ground. The other Doves looked distinctly disturbed, too. They were practically on top of one another, wide-eyed and silent, trying to hide.

_Wonderful, _Darius thought. He hated Degardo sometimes.

Another murmur. "You'd think with all that money he wouldn't have to get a defective one."

"What. Was it half off? Couldn't resist a bargain?"

"Maybe they paid him to take it."

The roar of laughter was louder this time, and Demetrius pulled Caelyn to his side.

"That's enough," Darius thundered.

The laughter stopped, save Degardo's. "What, Darius? Is it our fault the boy's hideous? I'm not his father. At least I hope not. I'd have to go to a vet myself."

A tidal wave of laughter, cut short by Demetrius' quiet voice.

"What was that, Falin?" Degardo's eyes twinkled. He was enjoying himself.

"He can understand you perfectly." Demetrius' voice was expressionless.

"Bullshit." Degardo snorted. "Did they convince you of that while you were buying him? Like they try to pawn off the dogs who can count?"

_Oh gods. _Darius gritted his teeth.

Demetrius nudged Caelyn, who swallowed hard. In a High Demacian accent, he said, "Aye, sirs, I understand you. But — ah — worry not about the comments. I've got more synonyms for 'ugly' for my personal thesaurus, and Generals always know best."

Stunned silence.

Then Charles White and Degardo spoke at the same time. "Demetrius, what on earth?" Charles boomed, while Degardo frowned and said, "What the living fuck_ is_ that?"

"Did you hear it?" Robeson looked genuinely uneasy. "What — it's almost like some sort of —"

Darius saw Demetrius' fists clench.

"Stop! That's an order!" Silence again. Darius saw Jericho nod and continued. "This man lets us use his house after every battle. He feeds us for free. He plans our battles. And you're going to treat him like shit? What is this? Ionia?" He heard an approving whisper go up from the pack of Doves. Their pretty blue eyes were purple in the red light of the dying sun. He saw Degardo open his mouth to snap a reply. Robeson stopped him.

"Look," Robeson murmured. "The crazy man's bought a defective child. Like calls to like. Let it go before Lord Darius has a fit."

"Aye." General Clive. "Darius has a thing for orphans too, doesn't he? They're his own kind."

Darius would've said something, but was watching Demetrius intently. It was quite clear he enjoyed the boy's company — his hand had resettled protectively on his shoulders. The purrs were fainter now.

_They always tease the mentally unstable ones. Of course. _He realized he should've diverted the teasing earlier to Charles White, something about him sleeping with Ryan. White would've gladly taken it. Anything to keep them from harassing General Falin.

"Aye. Darius is Jericho Swain's Dove, in a way. They say jump and the boys will jump, even if it's off a deadly cliff. Into a stormy ocean."

"Oh, but they love their masters." Thick sarcasm. "Mental illness in the first degree. It's not like you can hate them, is it? Where's a pretty young Demacian child going to go in the heart of Noxus?"

"Straight to Riveria's whorehouse." Quiet laughter.

Then Degardo's voice. "Jericho ought to make Darius wear a cute little tie."

"I think I'd make him wear a red one. What do you think, Darius?" Jericho looked at Darius, weary.

Darius forced a smile. "Black would be better. But you're in charge, right?"

An approving round of chuckles, and the tension broke.

They finally made it. The Manor — it had been extensively redone, entire wings destroyed and rebuilt after the massacre — was already warmly lit, One-Eyed Maria waiting with a smile and handshake. The boys took the Generals' coats and scurried to the kitchens, then served them dinner halfway through the talks.

It was better than usual. Caelyn's doing, surely. Noodles with spiced sausage and some sort of sweet mushrooms.

Darius glanced up at Demetrius. Charles White was saying quietly, "Why didn't you tell us he was — I don't know — a prodigy? Or why didn't he? We're interested in him and you, Demetrius."

_ Interested. _Probably a Charles White-ism for _concerned. _

Demetrius sighed through his nose. He wouldn't look at anyone. "He didn't understand that you wished him to speak."

"Can't even get a normal Dove, can he, Darius?" Jericho said lowly, picking at his food. "Poor man. Good gods." It took a lot to make Swain pity anyone.

Darius paused to look at Caelyn. At least his fellow Willow-Doves were treating him nicely, snuggling against him and whispering whenever they had a spare moment. Those silver, almost white eyes. That red-gold hair. And freckles.

_Nope. Not human. _

Then he turned his attention, as they all always did, back to the war.

But of course Demetrius' side of the story was quite different, and continued to be even when a large portion of Demacia was ash.

A month ago.

"…but hurt him. Anything but hurt him."

Demetrius' eyes widened. "Wh — what? Charles, I would never —"

Charles eyed him. He was doubtlessly thinking of the tortured dead in the basement of Falin Manor. "You got a strange look on your face when I said you could do anything with them."

"Because the entire idea is preposterous! Buying a human being goes against all my sensibilities as a humanist."

"Perhaps. But you can improve their lives." Andrew lit a cigar and looked at Livingston Crownguard's address, the diagram of his house. The smoke wafted into the spring night. Demetrius wasn't supposed to help with personal vendettas, but he'd outlined a way to strike Demacia's tactician. All the same

To General Falin, it felt — dirty. A strike on one of his own. Tacticians the world over were the same, after all, no matter what side. Just men with maps and ink. Or so Demetrius guessed.

Charles nodded. "Is it really slavery if it turns out for the good?"

A week before Ryan, Wren and Caelyn's fates collided with the three of theirs.

_Yes, _Demetrius thought, but didn't say. _Yes, it's still slavery. _

The woman at the orphanage gave him a rather strange look when he said he wanted Caelyn. _He's — ah. He'd be difficult to handle even for the most, ah, stable of men. _

_ I'm not sure what you're implying. In terms of either of us. _The boy was still reading the pocket copy of _Songs of Noxus _Demetrius had happened to have in his coat pocket, fascinated. Oblivious. His battered suitcase was full of the tactical diagrams he drew of Demacia for fun and the dictionary he'd been copying when Demetrius first laid eyes on him. He was the only child who hadn't hid from Demetrius' tall, bony form, mostly because he'd been preoccupied, in part because the Generals never wanted him.

_He's strange. And he doesn't really look — like you all usually want them to, does he?_

_ Are you denying me? _Demetrius said, trying to inject his voice with the deep, rumbling note the other Generals had.

But the woman didn't look scared. Merely uncomfortable.

_Forty-thousand. _

_ Done. _

_ Wh — _She stumbled back. _I — are you sure? _

_ I've got cash. _He noticed the boy looking up at him as he dug for his wallet. He'd exchanged the Noxian currency for Demacian earlier, not knowing that most boys didn't even fetch fifteen grand.

The boy swallowed hard. The shivers he'd fought to hide surfaced.

_S - s - sir, I really don't t - think —_

_ It's —_

_ I'm worth t - that much —_

_ Alright. It's alright. _He ruffled his hair and snatched his hand away almost immediately. They both blushed.

It'd been twenty days, and nineteen since Demetrius realized he was fond of him, twelve since he realized Caelyn was fond of him, too. He'd slipped enormous illustrated natural encyclopedias in with the specialized cleaning supplies the boy wanted (housework was a passion of his, which was why the orphanage owner hated to see him go).

An experimental portable radio. A set of three leather notebooks. A designer fountain pen inlaid with precious stones. Caelyn turned bright red when he was presented with them.

He was stunned. "You d - don't have to —"

"I know." Demetrius cleared his throat. He couldn't look at him. "But you already deserve them."

"Really?" A glimmer to those eyes. Caelyn couldn't look at him either. One-eyed Maria watched them both, shaking her head. The way the two shyly interacted with one another was starting to get under her skin.

"Aye. Cleanest the house has been in years." Not to mention his skill in the kitchen. Demetrius actually had an appetite for once.

He spent one agonizing week watching shivery Caelyn polish the heirlooms over the tops of his tactics books, a long week of glancing up at the boy while he drew the plans. Caelyn usually knelt in the corner of the drawing room, scanning through his gardening encyclopedia. He always found a way to be near Demetrius without touching him.

Demetrius could almost swear Caelyn glanced up at him, too. Almost. He never quite caught him.

_He's paid to be nice_, _Demetrius, _part of the Tactician whispered. _He probably can't stand you. What would he want with you anyway?_

_Aye, but 'you can do anything' includes hugs, right? So long as it hurts him not. And he does call me master. _A louder part.

_Yes. Right. Of course. _How could the voices in his head sound so sarcastic? _Because that's normal. You remember what Degardo said? The one time in his life he was being serious? He took you by the shoulders and said 'You can try and try but I really think you just can't. You just can't be normal. And I'm sorry to say it but I think it's the gods' honest truth.' Something about the others…I just don't have it. _

He realized his fingers were curled so tightly around the top of his book that his knuckles were white. And the boy was watching him with guarded eyes — or was he?

He spent the night awake and nervous, watching the full moon slip past his window, listening to himself breathing, taking his own pulse every few minutes.

The next evening Caelyn sat next to him on the black-leather living room couch with his own book in hand. One on the Freljordian Aven and Skylan myth, Demetrius remembered. And of course Demetrius saw him creeping closer and closer in little increments. It would've been a game if the Tactician hadn't felt his heart about to beat right out of his chest and collapse in a wrinkled mass on the floor.

Then the trembling Dove was peering up at him through red-gold bangs anxiously. "If I may, s - sir —"

"Of course," Demetrius said faintly.

Caelyn tackled him, leaning against his chest and kneading him. The shivers had, for once, ceased. Startled, Demetrius lay back and let him stretch out on his chest, flinching when Caelyn nuzzled his chin. He was only as large as his ribcage.

Caelyn met his eyes. "You seem awfully shy. There's really no reason to be, sir."

"Oh?" Demetrius swallowed hard, then shivered himself when Caelyn wrapped his arms around him. Or tried to. He didn't quite make it.

"Aye. I'm your pet." He sounded deeply satisfied.

_Normal, _Demetrius thought. He closed his eyes. "You're — you're human. And humans aren't pets."

"I'm not entirely human. But I appreciate that."

"I — ah. I'm not used to human contact."

Caelyn squeezed him harder. "Then I'm not human at all."

Demetrius coughed. "Or — or — or any contact really. The Whites took me in, but —"

"It's alright." Caelyn pressed an ear to Demetrius' heart.

Demetrius stroked his back and was startled by how fragile and small he felt. And how warm and soft. It was then that the purring started for the first time. The warmth spread through both of them, fanning out in sun-colored waves. The first word the Tactician's weary brain whispered was _Heavenly. _The second was _Blessing. _

"I'm here to take care of you." Caelyn smiled. The Tactician blushed. Earlier that evening he had announced his plans for the Noxian army, for an operatic clash between titanic forces. Men, metal, movement, death. And here was this tiny — being, Demetrius supposed — promising to take care of him.

"Thank you."

He nodded against Demetrius' thudding heart. The beats were slowing down, the fingers warm against the back of his neck. "It was nice to realize that you were genuinely fond of me, sir."

"Was it obvious?" Demetrius laughed shakily.

"Aye. A little. And I felt it." Caelyn closed his eyes and purred louder. "I'm very fortunate."

"No you aren't." The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

"I'm afraid on this point we must disagree." He rearranged Demetrius' hands so they were encompassing the small of his back. His eyes fluttered closed. _Good night, master. _

_ Good night. _He was unsurprised that the child was telepathic.

It was the first night Demetrius slept all the way through in years. No humid nightmares, no corpses. They were never of his family, but of soldiers, asking why he sent them over this ridge or that hill, ranting about how obvious the counterattacks were with rotting, flapping jaws and viscous eyes.

It had been less pleasant to awaken to Charles and Andrew's suspicious stares and Ryan and Wren's envious ones, but Caelyn's adorable cat-like yawn made up for it. And two days later they endured the first round of teasing, of "defective" and "inhuman." There was much more to come.

"Bushbaby," Demetrius muttered that night, pulling his socks off and listening to Maria show the Generals out. A low rumble of thunder and of voices, along with the high pitched chiming of the Doves' and rain. Caelyn was already curled up on the pillow next to his, watching him. "The hell sort of insult is that, anyway?" It was nice to not rant to empty air, to have someone present in place of the stillness.

"Not sure." Caelyn snuggled closer, still deeply flattered by having actual pajamas. _He cares enough to see that I sleep comfortably. I'm truly fortunate. _"But I am hideous. I've heard that one often."

Demetrius huffed. "Not in the slightest." He couldn't quite bring himself to say _you're very handsome _yet.

"My eyes — they thought I didn't have a soul. The bluer your eyes are in Demacia, the holier you are. The Battle Saints' eyes look almost black." Caelyn stretched his muscles, tired from walking and cooking.

But it was worth it, and more than worth it. He was really only upset because Demetrius was, and vice versa. And both of them were mostly pleased to be in the other's company, teasing or no.

Demetrius fluffed the pillows, frowning. "They said you didn't have a soul?" _How could they possibly? _

"They were convinced I was a demon." Caelyn leaned against his arm earnestly. "For various reasons, sir."

Demetrius switched the lamp off. There was a faint, powdery silver glow to the child's eyes in the dark — it was actually rather lovely. He hesitated, then kissed his forehead.

"It matters not."

* * *

But that's what you had to say, wasn't it? _It matters not. _

Because you couldn't explain him in fifteen pages or five hundred, three words (_I adore him_) or three-hundred thousand. You know. You tried.

You couldn't explain standing barefoot on the sun-warmed slats of your back porch, gray summer clouds rolling past, book under your arm, looking out on the sea of flowers. Blue roses that glowed at night, white ones that seemed to drink in the morning sun, pink blossoms thick with color. "Why?" you asked, and what you really wanted to ask was _why me? Why choose me? _Tacticians had reasons.

Boys did, but they were unknowable. "Because I l - love you." The boy stood there with eyes squeezed shut, dirt stains faint on his thighs. Tiny drops of sweat on temples, beneath fluffy red-gold hair. He cracked an eye open and you pulled him close and kissed his forehead. You couldn't — you can't — tell them what it was like to have your backyard transformed from a wasteland to heaven by the sheer power of an eight-year-old's love, and how you knew that love overwhelmed him. How he'd do anything to make you happy.

Yes, anything. Blue roses weren't real. That didn't matter.

You couldn't tell them, tell them why when you accidentally cut your finger in the kitchen a month later and he gasped "Can I have it?" you paused.

"The — the blood?"

"I — please. Please?" There's an urgent, almost whining undertone to his voice. Desperation. That might be scarier than his request. You stand there thinking about it and suddenly your dead mother is standing in the doorway.

_What? Wh —_

"Please, sir?" His voice is husky with want. No, need. His eyes are dilated, huge, black. Your eyes don't leave your mother's face — she is full, healthy, hale, hearty in a green sundress you don't even consciously remember. She shouldn't be. She shouldn't be there.

You almost don't feel the light touch of lips to your flesh, lapping at your blood. You pull away and his mouth follows your finger with a small sound of discontent. He goes to beg and pauses. "Who's that pretty woman, sir?"

"Ah. You — you can see her?" Your knees go weak. She smiles approvingly.

"Is she here for tea?" The boy's eyelashes flutter. "I can make an extra cup —"

Your voice is calmer than you figured. "She happens to be dead, child." And half of what you think is how much Charles would disapprove of this, all of it.

He looks up at you. Those eyes make your heart catch fire and freeze in equal parts. You know what he's going to say and want to stop him and can't. "She can still come to tea, master." _I'd do anything. _

Your mother stands there with a smile like spring rain. You know it's not her — that summer picnic was, gods, how many years ago now? How old are you? How old is Caelyn? She's joined by —

"Uncle Jack? Ah —" You watch them fade in. Suddenly you can hear them, and it's not like they're spirits or ghosts. They sound like guests. Murmuring, laughing. There are footsteps. _No. Anyone but my family. _

Caelyn is biting his lip. He's watching the blood bead on your finger intently. "I can make however many cups we need."

You have no idea if the two phenomena are related. The half of your mind not worried about Charles is saying calmly, _Shade. Those are Shades. Of your family. _It's proven when Lacie Falin grins and her teeth are knives. It all happened so suddenly — that cabbage is still lying on the counter, gleaming purple, waiting to be salad.

You can't tell them why you take the knife and draw it across your arm right above the blue complex of veins and press his lips to it. His deep gasp of pleasure makes your face tingle. The spirits all froze, then disappeared with a sound like rippling water. His tiny hands are wrapped tightly around your arm — it hurts, it'll bruise.

You really can't tell them how you watched his throat quiver with each desperate swallow and thought _it's actually sort of charming. _He isn't human. There's a dreaminess to his half-closed eyes. It warms you, but it most assuredly isn't human.

You put a hand on his shoulders and awkwardly shuffle to your bedroom, manage to get a towel while he's suckling your skin, then arrange it all so you two can lie down. You prop your feet on the footboard and almost close your eyes — like the purring, it's somehow soothing.

Maria is standing in the doorway, much like your mother earlier.

She's entirely calm. She was here for Lachlan's childhood, on vacation for the massacre. She'd seen plenty from the Falin family. This wasn't even the worst of it. "Need anythin', sir?"

"Iron tablets." _Not a onetime occurrence, is this? How long has it been for him? _You think of him curled up in the orphanage, shaking and starving. Pity wells within you. _I should've gotten him sooner. _

"Mhm." Maria looks away. "Mhm."

He growls when your other hand nears him. It's not threatening. It's like a fox kit's, perhaps. You hush him and stroke the back of his neck. The pure physical bliss that fills him is radiant. It fills you too. You are utterly content.

Though the next day is a nightmare and you feel drunk. Charles snarls some nonsense to Caelyn about poisoning you for your fortune and his eyes well with tears because master dying is a horrible idea. Charles' sharp eyes spot blood staining the corner of his mouth and see the cut on your arm.

"I don't know what's going on in this house. Again." His voice rumbles. You always wish you could do that. Make your voice scary.

"I'm happy."

"What?" He pulls away, frowning.

You feel yourself nod. "I am."

He glances at your arm. At the boy's sparkling tears. Even his tears are beautiful.

Then there's a brief break in reality. You slip through a crack. The last true break for a while, for as long as Caelyn's alive. Depending on your view of reality, of course.

Charles is twenty-seven again — your age now? Time is strange — and you're wedged behind a dresser in the dark. Charles — he's enormous — scowls. _I broke the lock on the door. He can get in now. You've got to come out or —_

Andrew. _Charles! Don't say that! _

_ Or he'll get you. He'll get you. You've got to come with me or he'll kill you, understand? You'll end up like your sisters. _

Their eyes.

You wake up with Caelyn crouched over you, whimpering softly against your neck. And a note. _You were supposed to present the plans, but there's no waking you. I'll cover. — C. W. _You flip it over. _That boy better not be the death of you. _

The days seemed to fly even then. There were never enough of them. Never enough of his laughter, of you two sitting on the porch and watching the sunset, or of fishing. Getting lost for weeks on the Falin property, returning to confused Generals who shook their heads with sighs.

Or Caelyn's continuous cleaning — you have to remind him to only wash the dishes four times. You settled on four. Between two (which you wanted) and seven (what he needed). Or when he fell from grace — even the plans, the talk of war. There was never enough.

You admired him. Watched him become best friends with all the other Doves — something you could never do with the Generals — and tried not to laugh when you found him and Ryan White, Charles' boy, kissing. They both threw themselves on your feet, weeping like the world was ending.

You could tell of how his hands were deformed two years later and of the assault in the basement of the cathedral two years after that, when he was fourteen. How he felled forty Eagles with no prior sword training and was doused in blood when you found him, the rest of the Doves huddled behind. They were going to kidnap the boys, but one of them suggested they kill one to prove they were serious. _Kill the ugly one, _the boys said the Eagles said. Eagles, Doves. And Swain's a Raven. _Kill the ugly one, he doesn't belong to anyone important. Give him a sword, let him live his last moments in honor. On his feet, not his knees. _

His last moments. His last moments of sanity.

You know how and why he did it. They were going to take the Willow-Doves from their masters. Unacceptable.

You could tell them of him shaking against you when you pull him close, after Darius makes him lieutenant. He coughs. Then coughs more. You whisper _I don't know what I'm going to do if you don't come back to me. _The Generals are all staring. Your arms are around his ribs. You don't care.

"I h - h - hate them."

"Hate who?"

"The Demacians." Those eyes. They still sparkle, but their innocent luster is going, going, gone.

You love him anyway and are unsurprised. Just as unsurprised when you love him after five-thousand, fifty-thousand, five-hundred thousand deaths.

_The Generals said you were ugly too, _you think, but you don't point that out. You suddenly feel old. Too old for him. Darius and Jericho are whispering madly. The Doves are, too. Sit'ra. _The Generals know best, don't they? No, they don't. Not any more than you, love._

You could tell, but godsdamnit. It's been told for you. No wonder you don't know what the fuck reality is anymore. There's an opera of you and your boy when all you wanted was to live with him alone. There's a million movies emblazoned with your name, novels about you, paintings. You squint at them and wonder _Just what is real, anyway? _There's so few moments, it seems, untainted by others' opinions, by their thoughts.

If you open up the newspaper and have to read an essay about why loving children is right or wrong — or a psychologist's attempt to understand you and him — or switch on the radio and hear the first haunting flute notes of "That's All He Is" —

It won't matter because he's there. Waiting to kiss your cheek.

* * *

But he wasn't. Demetrius moodily looked out the front window, towards the gates. There were thick, dark circles around his eyes. His black hair was unkempt. In his mind's eye he saw Caelyn playing with Meridian for the first time, their breaths pluming into the winter sky.

In the present, all the lights in Falin Manor were switched off. One-eyed Maria had died a year ago, clasping Demetrius' hand. She'd said, _I hung on as long as I could for you. _

Caelyn had joyfully rubbed noses with his black hell-mare and looked inside, into the window. _Isn't she beautiful, sir? _Dead now. All of them dead.

"I knew she wasn't real," the Tactician muttered into his cold cup of tea. "But it didn't matter." He squinted. The hulking form moving down the trail towards the gates had a certain weight to it. That didn't matter — Shades often looked real, too.

_Charles? Probably Charles. Come to harass me about living alone again. _

The Manor was still clean. So what if Caelyn's retirement papers were still on Demetrius' nightstand, the date come and gone? Or the boy's military medals heaped on his own? If the calendars were out of date?

It wasn't Charles. Demetrius recognized the shape of the jaw and swore quietly. Spirits from the past really did come forth again when their time on the Wheel was due. Darius on his porch steps.

And the Wheel turned.


	4. Positioning

N.B. Mofasacat, thank you bro. Your kind words mean a lot to me. Unfortunately (probably not) the story will actually, indeed, end within five chapters. I shit you not.

Thank you xDiv too. *adjusts your tie*

Carry on, my wayward sons. (P.S. I wrote this in an hour. I gotta get out of this Wheel before I get crushed).

* * *

The Center World

Ryland, Skylan and Ezreal walked and walked until Fairlight came into view. The town was utterly abandoned, though everything was in perfect repair. It was eerie to walk through the desolate streets. They had once thronged with vendors and shopkeepers, but the trio encountered naught but silence. It made their breaths seem too heavy, their bootsteps too loud.

Ezreal kept sneaking glances at Ryland. The red on his jaw was clearly defined — again. That was what made this thing so horrible. The Wheel turned, and it happened again and again and again…

Ryland caught his gaze and forced a smile. "I'm fine, Ez. Really."

_That wasn't what I was wondering, _Ezreal thought to himself. He didn't notice how selfish ignoring Ryland's wellbeing was. _What I really want to know if he was lying earlier. Am I his favorite or no? _

_Does it really matter? _Skylan's deep thought-voice spooked him. The red of the setting sun gleaming off the windows did, too. It looked like blood. _Does it truly trouble you that much, Destroyer? _

_He's my friend. _Ezreal scowled. _And I'd appreciate if you didn't intrude. _

_Little choice. Your power makes your thoughts sound like cannon shots. _Skylan grinned back at him. _I would know. _

Ryland glanced up at the sky. "So what are we doing now?" He felt like he had to keep asking to make sure he stayed sane. He was, after all, stranded in a different world.

"We rest the night in normal beds." Skylan looked them over. "I know not what sort of hardships you endured, but I know that a night of rest should help."

"But we have to get —"

"Luxanna's had to wait this long, hasn't she?" Skylan arched an eyebrow, picked a rotten orange from an abandoned stand, and hurled it. There was a faraway tinkle of breaking glass. Ezreal blinked — it had to take true power behind that shot to shatter a window. "Tomorrow Sir Ryland and I determine what sort of power we need to break into the Northern World. You can help too."

"And then?"

"Find the barbs, find a way to storm Death's Kingdom —"

"Save the princess," Ezreal murmured. The sun was dying, leaving everything coated in faint twilit ash. Except for the spots on Ryland's jaw — they still glowed a sullen red. A shadow, too, was falling over Ezreal's heart. Cold wings of doubt.

Skylan nodded. "Worry not, Destroyer."

"Stop calling me that."

"Worry not, Abuser."

Ezreal stumbled to a halt.

Ryland froze, horrified. "Skylan —"

"There is no point in calling things by names other than the truth." Skylan's eyes narrowed. The dimness rendered him a shadow, a statue, a titan.

Ezreal felt a shiver start in his knees. They wavered and struck each other. But the ache in his chest — surely that was nothing like what Ryland felt. "I —"

"Can't help it?" Skylan grinned. "It's in your blood?"

"I said I was sorry." Ezreal gulped. The truth for once, stated baldly, as fact.

Ryland looked away. "Maybe it is. In all our blood."

A long silence.

Skylan shrugged. "Mayhap."

* * *

The Northern World

Darius braced himself and rapped on Falin Manor's door. The windchimes were gone. So were the flowers.

And though he had braced himself, the man who opened it was enough to make him stagger back.

Even with his clean jeans and soft shirt, Demetrius — looked dead. There was simply no other way to describe it. He was gaunt and more than gaunt, and his eyes were dull, lifeless. The vibrant forest green Darius remembered — the green that had reached its peak in color around Caelyn's sixteenth birthday — was flattened. Frozen.

And those eyes wouldn't leave his face.

Darius realized they were both staring and cleared his throat. "Good morning."

"Good morrow to you, Lord Darius." His voice was fainter than ever. "Come to torment me more, I presume?"

"No, actually." Darius was surprised by the bitterness in his own voice. It seemed everyone blamed each other for Caelyn's suicide, even still. "I need your help."

Demetrius chuckled and shook his head. "I'm afraid you've come to the wrong house, then."

Darius gritted his teeth. The cicadas were whirring in the hot, white sun. He was remembering Demetrius clutching his forearm the night before Caelyn rode for the Great Burning. Standing beside Falin Manor's stables, rain pouring. It was a solo-mission, Caelyn versus Demacia.

_The Falin fortune. You can have it._

_Demetrius —_

_You can have it to fund the military. Take every single cent. Just let me take him away from here. To Ionia. _

_General Falin —_

The reason in his voice slipping. _My fortune for him. Take everything._

_I can't. I really can't. _

_He's all I ever wanted! _Demetrius had roared, eyes blazing. The one time in his life he'd sounded like a true General. Scary. _The only thing! And I don't deserve him even now? _

Now the two stood silently, regarding one another. "I'm afraid not, Darius."

"No. Listen." Darius took a deep breath. "My son. Ryland Whitefield. He's in trouble up north."

"Ryland?" Demetrius actually laughed, though it didn't change the lack of light in his eyes. "You had the audacity to name _your_ son Ryland —?"

"Not me. He chose it himself. It used to be Michael."

"My gods." Demetrius chuckled. "My gods, how stupid do you think I am?"

"No. Listen. He's riding with —" _It sounds so stupid, yet so true. _"He's riding with the God of Destruction."

Demetrius Falin froze, then looked Darius in the eye. Any small trace of merriment — even false merriment — gone. "Is this some sort of joke? Is this what you all still consider funny? Teasing me?"

"No. It's true. Sit'ra — Ezreal of Piltover —"

"Ian Lightbringer's son," Demetrius said flatly. "Caelyn made that man look like an amateur."

_At least I have his attention now. _"Ryland and Ezreal are up in the Freljord, gone to stop the Skelgarn —"

"From the Freljordian myths?" Demetrius folded his arms.

"You know of it?"

"I read quite a lot, in case you don't recollect." A bitter smile. Yes, that had been Demetrius' job. Reading, then reading more.

"Aye. They went to stop it but — well — things went wrong." _You'd know all about —_

"_You'd know all about that. _That's what you're thinking, isn't it?" Demetrius' smile grew even bitterer. "So, what. You wish me to ride beside you to save your son? How adorable."

"Demetrius —"

"You honestly believe I'd help you?" His eyes flashed. "After your negligence? Your pressure?"

Darius heard himself say "Caelyn took his own life. It was his decision."

"Aye." Demetrius bared his teeth. "Because his will wasn't yours, right?"

"No." Darius met his eyes. "It was yours."

Demetrius lost all expression. A silence spanned out. There wasn't even the tick of a clock to break it — all the clocks had stopped long ago. His voice was soft. "You insolent, over-muscled heartless thoughtless excuse for a man —"

Darius stood silent.

His voice rose. "How couldyou? How _dare_ you?"

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Charles White's enormous form barged through the door, sweating. He looked at the pair of them. "Darius — you didn't tell me you were coming here alone. Did you really think that was wise?"

"It wasn't my fault!" The words — they left his mouth before he could stop them. That's what had been on his mind his entire ride through Noxus.

Demetrius roared laughter. Laughter that still, even now, didn't shift the deadness in his eyes. Not at all. "Not your fault? Then whose was it, you cowardly bastard?"

Charles calmly took each of them by one shoulder. "Demetrius. Do you remember what the Willow-Doves used to say?"

"Risen in flame." Demetrius was abruptly on the verge of tears. "They want me to believe he'd come back again."

"My boy is a necromancer," Darius said softly. "He — he can —"

"Bring him back." Demetrius' voice was flat. "So you and Swain can torture him."

"No. We — the war is over. It's been over for three years. He could be yours." It suddenly seemed absolutely crucial to Darius to convince him. The desire burned in him. Things could be righted and should be. "He could come home with you. Ryland can do it. I know he can. But — we need you."

He didn't realize that Charles White was glaring at both of them. "All this traffic with the dead. I know not why you can't accept that the dead are dead and leave them."

"He was a bit more important than your pathetic wife, Charles," Demetrius said mildly, examining his fingernails. Despite his bereavement, they were clean and kempt.

Charles almost struck him, but his fist faltered. He still had most of his family. He even still had his Dove Ryan, and essentially his brother's, too. The Whites' house was always full of love and cheer, even without Flora and Nadine.

And Falin Manor was vast, dark, cold. Demetrius was alone.

"I'll go." Demetrius left them without another word.

"He's still so bitter," Darius murmured. He wanted to bury his face in his hands, but didn't. Not in front of a man he outranked — he remembered at least that much.

Charles snorted. "And he's not got a right to be? The Wheel turns, aye, but not in his favor."

It never had.

* * *

The Southern World

Luxanna felt like she had been climbing forever. The steps up the golden spire were high and deeply slanted. Every movement upward made her knees ache, and soon, the inner muscles of her thighs sang unpleasantly with tension.

But that hadn't stopped her fellow captive's cheerfulness. The blonde boy was all bright smiles and shiny green eyes, murmuring quietly to himself about the composition of angel wings.

"…ferraform feathers, with a lattice of intinox most likely giving them the capability of flight…"

Oliver dar Regale rolled his eyes. "You think you can shut the hell up?"

The boy blinked back at him. "Hm? Was I talkin' out loud?"

"Yes, actually." Oliver's jaw clenched tightly as they paused on another landing. There were only five more flights of twenty to go. _Only _seemed a strange word in this context, but after fifty? It was warranted. He suddenly blurted, "Look. Are you really King Ryland's consort?"

Aven batted his eyelashes. "Aye. Or eventually. His and my husband's both."

Luxanna's nose wrinkled in disgust. "How could you love him?"

"Love who? Skylan? He's truly amazin'." Aven went starry-eyed. "I can't wait t'see him again, now that I feel real healthy. And —" the boy folded his hands over his chest and sighed. "He's beautiful as a sunset in the mountains. All big and strong and —"

"No. Ryland."

Aven cocked his head. "How could you not love Ryland?"

Lux smiled. "I hate him. I'll despise him with every last breath of mine. He changed my lover into a monster. A multi-colored monster."

"Wee bit of color never hurt anythin' in my opinion." Aven shrugged, then paused. "Wait. Your lover?"

"Ezreal of Piltover."

Aven backed away two steps, right into Oliver dar Regale's chest. He stumbled away, then stared at her. "I — Ezreal?" The Lightbringer laughed in disbelief. "How could you love _him_?"

"What do you mean?" Lux's eyes narrowed. Her blue armor was making her shoulders ache. She was in no mood to argue her lover against Ryland, but was going to anyway. This skinny blonde freak had given her a headache long ago.

"That bastard's evil as all hell, m'lady. Burned my wrists, called me a fag — treats Sir Ryland like a little animal to kick around —"

"And Ryland's not evil?" Lux's eyes glowed with rage. "He _just _killed a bunch of these proud men with his godsdamned mangy dogs!"

"He's got a heart of purified silver," Aven snapped. He heard someone think _and a cock of solid iron _and paused again. It was only him and Luxanna, right? And Lux wouldn't be thinking that. The only other person was — Aven whirled on the prison guard. The recognition hit him like a choking black wave of cold water. The face from Sir Ryland's nightmares. The guard realized his realization and threw his hands before his face.

Aven could only whisper, his voice feeling cold, small, dead. "How could you? How could you rape him?"

"What is he talking about? Oliver?" Lux turned to him with questioning blue eyes.

Oliver felt himself begin to sweat. "Come on, Lux. Don't listen to anything this faggot loser says." The willowy blonde kid turned pink.

"Godsdamn. I really am surrounded by demons. Makes me regret me ever studyin' your country. That's for certain." Aven scowled, though he was still flushed with hurt. "My brother lands a princess when he's got all the charm of a nest of cranky cobras."

"Brother." It wasn't a question. Lux's eyes frantically scanned the boy, who was now staring at her, defiance written across his face.

"Aye. Y'heard me, madam, though I hate to say it."

_No, _Lux thought. _No one with Ezreal's blood could ever love Ryland. _But it was there, no matter how hard she wished to deny it. There was a certain curve to his jaws, a certain way their delicate ears were set. Their noses were the same, though Aven was skinnier. And the shape of their eyes was the same, though Ezreal's were the ocean and Aven's a tree's worth of leaves. _He has a brother. _

"So Michael — Ryland — couldn't get Ezreal," Oliver said, tapping his fingers against the wall and averting his gaze. "So he got this low-rent version of him instead. Wonderful. Whitefield always had good taste."

"Y'hurt him. Y'ruined his life. You know that, you big ugly brute?" Aven flinched backwards when Oliver's eyes darkened.

_I could ruin his, too, if I get him alone. _

"What are you — this entire thing is —"

"Lux, don't worry about it." Oliver grabbed Aven's forearm. There would be a massive bruise in the shape of a thumbprint tomorrow morning. Dar Regale burned to squeeze harder, to snap it.

Whitefield's consort is this skinny pathetic excuse — some weird kid who looks like a godsdamned elf. So when I'm near him he's not gay, but send a godsdamned twig his way and —

"Please." Aven swallowed hard. Then his eyes flashed. "But I guess Sir Ryland pleaded with y'too, and you certainly didn't hear him. Do y'even speak Demacian, you godsdamned —"

The slap cracked in the stairway like thunder. Aven reeled, but Oliver still held his arm, glaring.

The Lightbringer's chest heaved. _He's evil. _Then he paused and listened — Oliver couldn't feel him hearing his mind.

…_of course. Ezreal's brother. Means he's a historian, some really smart guy like Whitefield himself. Could actually talk to him about nature and culture, and when they go to the opera he'll actually understand it, and actually be interesting. _

Oliver's jaw cinched even tighter against the bleak wave of heartbreak that welled inside him. He itched to break the Lightbringer's face — he knew not how else to express his rage.

Aven went very still. He heard Skylan's voice rumble in his head. _Never black or white, Aven. Never one thing or the other. _

Luxanna was still shaking her head. Tears were building at the corners of her eyes, but she didn't want to let them free. Not in front of this strange, delusional little boy who adored pure evil.

"I want to go home."

"We all want things things we can't have." Oliver took her hand and led her upward, and upward.


	5. Erinae Takes Charge

_The Northern World: Freljord  
_

Malcolm Graves, Jayce and Erinae plodded through the calf-deep snow. Night had fallen some time ago, black and full of stars. The darkness seemed closer than ever. Ezreal and Ryland — their celestial lamps, their mortal lanterns — were gone.

Jayce realized with a pang that he didn't know which he preferred. The danger of having Ezreal nearby, always threatening to Overflow, Storm, Supernova. Or this chilly silence, punctuated only by huffed breaths and the crunch of footsteps.

The Defender didn't have to be able to see to know there was a distant look to Erinae's eyes. Her little face was tilted towards the sky.

Without Ezreal and Ryland, his and Erinae's ability to talk telepathically was dying. He had to pat her shoulders and say aloud, "They're probably okay." They were the first words any of them had spoken in a long time.

"I know that, stupid." Erinae rolled her eyes. "We're still alive, yeh?"

"You two ever entertain the idear it was all bullshit?" Graves's deep voice startled them.

Jayce rubbed his forehead. There was a pain there waiting to happen. A migraine. The last time he'd gotten one was ages ago, after Caitlyn explained that she liked him a lot, but liked Vi more.

The idea of the Wheel and gods being bullshit was tremendously appealing, but — "If it was, what were those fireworks back there? And Ez's dead dad?"

_That was intense, _he heard Erinae think. Her thought voice was very faint. Jayce suddenly longed to keep their link. No, he craved it. Even in the short time, he'd gotten used to Erinae's cheerful, bouncy presence. Without her, his mind suddenly seemed as black and huge and lonely as the Freljordian sky.

They were nearing a Generator. A vast shadow rising up like a dark ship from a white ocean.

Graves nodded. He was very tired, but relieved Ezreal wasn't with them. _No need to tell Catgirl that, though._ "Guess it would be too easy to think it was all a bunch of nonsense."

"Yar." Erinae's agreement was more of a sigh. She took one last look at the big moon before going inside.

It wasn't fun anymore. Adventuring was fun with Ez and Ryland because they were glowing and all lovey dovey. Now it was dark and cold. She was still falling in love with Jayce, but they could do that where it was warm.

_And we always gotta have some asshat following us. First Raka, now Cowboy. Ugh. Is this what having a dad is like? A chaperone? _

Graves lit their battery-powered lantern in the first corpseless room they stopped in. Of course, the pack with all the good shit — the extra jackets, a tent and much of the food — was gone with Ez. Gone to the Hereafter.

Ignoring the weary, cynical look from Jayce, Graves knelt and muttered prayers. Old ones. One for Quinn's safe passage. One for his wife Melena. Then he paused, and added one he'd heard Lightboy say one morning.

"_Torea, ka-far — _damnit — _kafeia arch Aven_."

_T'was somethin' like that._ Graves kneaded his temples. He had a headache coming on, too. Magic withdrawal._ Oh well. Thought behind it's still the same, I think. _

Erinae slumped against a metal wall, thinking of Ryland's silver tears. The few times she'd seen him smile. He was what her fellow prostitutes used to call a Good Man. He'd always be real gentle and pet her afterward.

Often the Good Men were the Noxian Generals, but not always.

She realized Jayce was watching her, a strange look on his face. _What are you lookin' at, big guy? _

He didn't move. He hadn't heard her.

She said it out loud and he grabbed her and held her tight. She realized he was about to cry and was shocked.

"Why you blubbering, Defender-man?" No reason to hide her accent now.

"That kid — I dunno. He didn't deserve it. You didn't deserve it." He was shaking now, choking. Not making sense. In the dim lantern light his tears were like glistening fire. Erinae wanted to lick them and stopped herself.

"What?"

"Just like Malcolm's baby girl, my parents…Ezreal's parents, Lux and Quinn…Ryland's f - f - fucking ha - hand —" Jayce sobbed into his clenched fist. _No. No, fuck. I've got to keep it together. I'm the older one. She shouldn't have to watch me break down —_

Erinae squeezed his jaw and felt the warm water slip down her fingers. She exchanged a look with Graves and cuddled against Jayce's chest.

"Hey. It's alright, babe."

"Is - is it?" Their battery-powered lantern was dying, too, and Light- and Godboy weren't here to charge it. Soon they'd be in black.

"Yeh." She grinned. "Just hang on. I'll save us. You better fuckin' believe it, too, alright?"

He snorted through his tears. "I just —"

"There you go again. 'I just.' Well you better just listen, alright? You took care of me. It's my turn now."

He broke down entirely, sobbing hard into her hair. The tears against her scalp were warm at first, then chilly. It felt like being dunked in a wintry river. But there was a warm feeling inside her — she was helping him. She could give back.

She didn't put it into those words. She thought _Of course he can cry on me. I cried on his dumb ass earlier. _

She stroked his strong jaw, his cheeks, his temples, over and over again. It was something one of the older girls did for her when she was too sore to sleep naturally — 'dream face painting.' And it worked. He was asleep in minutes.

Erinae situated herself on top of him and kissed his forehead. _Goodnight, dummy. _

"Girlie?" Graves' rough voice. He'd been praying silently the whole time.

"Yeh, man?"

"Thanks for bein' strong. Dunno where you got it. Doesn't matter." A pause. "Y'really are gonna help us live. I know it."

"Awww. You're such a sweetie." Erin giggled softly. "No prob, mate. We're gonna live. I promise."

_I promise, _she whispered to Jayce's mind, and felt the link vanish. The lack filled her with a vast, sweeping ache, one more pain in the cold. Their connection had been the most intimate, loving experience she'd ever had. It was full of Jayce and how he looked at her — he thought of her like an angel, like a fierce tigress, like a child, like a woman. And he adored her. She wasn't just three holes and soft blonde hair.

Then Erinae slept and dreamt. _For the Wheel is built on dreams. I think you know this by now. _

She was a tiger soaring through the sky. Stars — silvery, enchanting globes — glittered before, around, behind her, piercing the dark.

_What would a world be without stars? Darkness. _

Then she spotted him. His scarred hand was clutching the gold reins of a huge black mare. The horse was drinking interstellar dust in huge, gusty gulps. He stroked its side, thoughtful.

_He's mine, _she thought. _Round two. _

The Wheel turned — repetition, patterns, symbols, infinity. And as it turned towards its end, it approached its beginning. Or should've. But every point on the Wheel was doubled and multiplied. There was no stop or start.

Only, for now, once more, this hunt.

Her tiger mind was suddenly consumed with desire. She roared, and he looked up. His silver eyes — star eyes? — filled with fear.

Her voice echoed across galaxies. _T'SANT! RUN, BOY!_

He leapt effortlessly onto his horse and took off. Fire, the red outer coatings of supernovas, dripped from his mare's glossy black hooves, a trail of flame and blood. Erinae hurled herself through it. After Ezreal, nothing scared her.

_Except loving and losing Defender-man. That didn't count. _

The boy sped up. He, too, was fire. Fiery comets hurtled towards her. She sprang over them and bared her teeth. A planet went spinning by. _Don't think so._

With a final pounce she flung him from his horse. The beast charged onward without her rider, shadowy mane streaming. The boy scrabbled for her. Erinae had him pinned.

_Meridian! No! _

_You're mine, _Erinae thought. _You're mine this time. _

His eyes met hers. He was trembling. _M - madam —_

_I don't think so. _She turned human and bent her neck to kiss him, then laid down on him entirely. Their bodies were perfect together, made of the same star-borne celestial accident, but unrelated in blood and flesh. Her hips were slimmer than his, her mouth a luscious curve to his cute bow. She interlaced her pale fingers with his destroyed ones, heard his soft gasp as her tongue explored his neck, then her teeth.

_Infinity, repetition. The two Star Children again and again. _

He shook harder, but tasted sweet. _Please. I'm only Sir's. _

_I don't think so, _she thought again, kisses got rougher and rougher until she felt a polite tap on her shoulder.

Then Erinae opened her eyes and realized she was in some sort of airy white palace. A huge ivory loom-thing was two paces away. There was a cool bejeweled birdcage nearby, too.

Her canine teeth were deep in Caelyn's flesh. He was panting.

A more insistent tap. "Madam. I'm afraid I must ask you to cease and desist."

_Again._ _Again and again._

"I 'on't 'hink so."

Caelyn hissed in pain — her teeth were past the point of pleasure, especially when they were moving while she talked.

"And I think you must." The voice was mild, but had an undertone of finality to it. "He's my property."

She ripped her fangs out and glared at Caelyn's face. His eyes were squeezed shut. "Nice try, asshat. Slavery's illegal."

"Not in Noxus."

She looked up and almost passed out. Now that — that was a Good Man. The truest one she'd ever seen. From Noxus. Handsome face, friendly smile, calm green eyes. Still, she forced a scowl and stumbled to her feet.

The man was right, had called her bluff — Erinae had bought her own freedom from Riviera.

Caelyn staggered upright and buried his face in the man's chest, quivering, hiding against him. Erinae watched the man hug him, then rub his back, murmuring into his hair. But — the man was flickering. Every time Caelyn shivered, the man wavered.

_Yeh. _She felt a trace of satisfaction. _I thought a Good Man like that wasn't real. _

When Caelyn turned to her at last, the man faded to a hand on his right shoulder.

Erinae grinned. "Whoa. That's, like, super symbolic."

"Hmm?" Caelyn cocked his head. Twin streams of blood were running from his neck down to his tight black shirt.

"Where he's just a hand on your shoulder. See it?" She flapped her own hand towards it.

Caelyn stared at her blankly. One of his rough hands was still gripping the man's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "What — what hand are you referring to, madam?"

"Wow," Erin breathed. "Now it's like hyper-symbolic, 'cause his hand's always on your shoulder and you're not even aware of it. Like his influence or some shit. Even when he's not there."

"I'm glad that the crazy ones are always drawn to me." Caelyn scoffed. "Some things never charge, Wheel or no."

Someone cleared their throat behind them and they whirled. "Riveria?" Erinae asked, as Caelyn said, frowning, "Degardo?"

This man wavered, too. And his booming voice had no distinctive features. He was average height, average build. Noxian. With an unremarkable suit.

He smiled at them. "It doesn't matter. I've come to offer you two a deal that will make you happy."

"Yeh," Erinae muttered. "That sounds legit."

"Not if you're from Noxus," Caelyn said softly.

"Which I am." Erinae eyed him. "You too, weird guy?"

"Aye." His accent said otherwise, but then again, so did hers.

"Well? Aren't you two excited?" The man's dark eyebrows rose. "I thought with all that manic energy —"

Erinae raised her hand. "But I'm already happy."

Degardo/Riveria stared at her. "Happier, then, Erin."

"Alright. Sure. Whatever." She looked at Caelyn, and they rolled their eyes together.

"Look." The man pointed to the loom. The white threads burst into sudden motion, whirring, clicking. Five green-gold spheres connected by silver-red-gold threads whirled against a backdrop, a curtain of stars.

"Dude." Erinae's eyes widened. "It looks like…"

"Yes?" And that's when Erinae knew for sure it wasn't Riveria. He always said _aye _to imitate the Generals.

"Like…"

"Yes?"

Erinae put her hands on her hips. "Spaghetti. Lots of spaghetti."

Caelyn smiled shyly. "I was thinking the same thing."

'Riveria' recoiled, then glared at them. "The correct answer was _wheel_."

Erinae snorted. "That's a Wheel? I hate to break it to you, but that ain't a wheel, sweetheart. That's a bunch of threads."

The man sputtered. "It's — it's a visualization —"

Caelyn's grin widened. "That's funny. Break it to him. Like 'brake.'"

"Didn't catch that one." Erinae smirked. "You're a sharp one."

"Look," the wavery person snapped. "Caelyn. You — you worship the Wheel, don't you?"

Caelyn's colorless eyes darkened and Erinae's thighs burned with refreshed lust. He was dangerous, even if he turned into a fox kit whenever someone was rough with him.

"Ha. I did once. Until the Wheel saw fit to take me from my Master."

The man gaped at him.

He nodded. "Aye, the Wheel did. After all those disciples and worship. I loved it. Almost as much as Sir. As Noxus, and Ryan and Wren." His voice grew soft.

"You — you killed yourself." The man's nervous laugh echoed in the throne room. "How is that the Wheel's fault?"

"I renounced the blood of Demacia. So many times. So many. And still I find myself among the very Battle Saints I slaughtered. Not a General in — in — "

His voice cracked. He clenched his jaw shut and turned away. The Good Man flickered into view behind him, smiling warmly, then vanished again. When Caelyn looked to them again, his eyes were copper red.

"Your godsdamned Wheel can go hang itself."

The man shook his head dispassionately and turned to Erinae. "Little girl. You care about the Wheel, don't you?"

"You mean Spaghetti Central?" She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and fought to hide her smile. Whoever this guy was, he was _pissed_. "No. Not really — wait. Wait a second." Something was clicking together in her brain. Something big. "Hold up. You. Flameboy."

"Yes?" Caelyn's torn hand was covering his face.

"You're opera dude. That guy. From the opera."

"Some things never change. Do they, sir?" His voice was a cracked whisper into the empty air. He swallowed hard. "Aye, madam. I am."

"Caelyn?" Erinae took a deep breath. "Caelyn Falin?"

The boy nodded. Erinae's eyes got huge.

"CAELYN FALIN?! DUDE!" She almost pounced on him again, but he cringed away from her voice. Loud voices were almost always bad.

"A - a - aye, sir — I mean —" He turned crimson.

"Oh my gods that's so cool." Erinae couldn't breathe. Her eyes were sparkling. She almost wished she could go back to Riveria's Mansion just to brag about the celebrities she'd met. "All the older girls had posters of you on their walls and you did three shirtless shoots for the yearly military calendar —"

He turned an even brighter red. "Lord Darius insisted. For morale."

" — and we would all pass it around and look at your muscles. You were always Wintertide III and Draven was always Wintertide II. Riveria told us that it was always winter in the Mansion because our calendars were wrong and we had the air conditioner up." She paused to gasp for air. "I forgot about your hands. I think — did they edit them?"

"Probably," Caelyn said softly. He looked away. _Only Sir could stand them. _

"And we would —"

"Excuse me." The other man coughed politely.

"Excuse _you,_" Erinae snapped. "And there was all these, like, stories about you and the other Generals. You know what I'm talking about. 'Only Sir's' my ass, friend."

Caelyn clutched at his heart. "I, ah —"

"And we would hope you would come in to see us but we knew you wouldn't because you had that_ guy_. The guy that owned you but loved you too?" Erinae was almost bouncing. Caelyn was staring at her. "Not like Riveria. He hated our stupid asses."

Caelyn cleared his throat. "I see."

"Yeh. And we listened to that opera like fifteen times a day, especially 'That's All He Is.' Because your owner would be like 'Nah, man, he killed like eight billion people, but he's still just my chill little dude.' Well, not in those words — something about innocence being crushed by Spaghetti Central over there —" She pointed to the Wheel on the loom. "But —"

"Excuse me." Degardo/Riveria was a little louder now. Caelyn was either about to laugh or cry.

"And we would fantasize about being you and being a Willow-Dove and your best friend and — dude, your fuckin' fire-horse! She was so cool, and —"

"EXCUSE ME!" The voice roared. Caelyn cringed even farther away. Erinae turned to glare at the speaker. She wasn't terribly surprised to see that it was a woman now — the being's true form, Noxian façade dropped when she realized it wasn't helping keep their attention — with long amber hair, angry green eyes and a white, flowing gown.

"Look, lady! I'm talkin' to one of my childhood idols, alright? He's almost as cool as Ryland."

"Ryland?" Caelyn's eyelashes fluttered. "The — the king?" _The one I met last night on the burning isle? It was real? _

"Yeh! I know him too! And he's all silver and —"

"Do either of you ignorant slut-children give a damn about the fate of the Wheel?" The Aurora Liliana thundered, glaring at them.

"Should I?" Erinae glared right back. "What the hell's in it for me?"

"Oh. I'll show you. If you decide to stop talking for a spin and look." The Aurora snapped her fingers, and the 'Wheel' on the loom faded into a vision of Skylan holding Ryland in a bed, stroking his hair. Both Caelyn and Erinae's eyes widened and darkened. "See?"

"Yeh. Yeh, I see." Erinae licked her lips. "Make 'em take their pants off."

The Aurora tried very hard not to bury her head in her hands, and she forced her voice not to tremble with fury. "My husband Death overlooked you two. Your fates are unfixed, so I need your — are you listening to me?"

"I hear you." Erinae's mouth was watering. Caelyn managed a nod.

"I need your cooperation to keep the Wheel spinning. There are — rewards if you do so."

"What's Caelyn Falin get?" Erin grinned and looked back at him. "Did I mention I love your name, too? 'Cause it kinda rhymes, and that's really —"

"Caelyn knows what he'll get," the Aurora said softly. She brushed strands of amber out of her tired eyes. "But I can't show him, or else t'fire'll destroy my palace." _Only reason he can stand upright without cryin' or shakin' is that this be a dream. Poor little half-souled bastard. _

"Ooh. Ooh. Is it an ass beatin'?" Erinae's grin widened.

Caelyn shivered. _Probably. Sir's going to be so angry at me for leaving him…_

The Aurora muttered something about _idiotic children _and _unplanned births, _then shook her head. "So? Will y'two listen to me?"

"Sure." Erin drawled like Graves and Caelyn let out a startled laugh. "Reckon I ain't got nothin' else to do."

Liliana shook her head again and sighed. _I'm so glad I reached them before Ian did — methinks they'd sell their soul or half-soul to anyone who promised them as little as a cup o'hot chocolate. Let alone a hug from a handsome dark-haired man. Lord. _

"Erinae. Draw this for Jayce in the morning. He'll know what to do." Another snap, and the picture faded to a simple diagram with a compass and paths back to Angel's Crossing.

Erin blinked. "What if I forget?"

"You won't." The Aurora paused. "I hope. And Caelyn?"

"Madam?"

"Listen carefully to the people speaking around you. Fates — all of them are comin' free from the Wheel's bindin' It's turned past its stoppin' point." Her eyes lost a little of their green glisten. "It's nigh impossible t'tell what'll happen."

"I'll do everything in my power." Caelyn bowed his head. "Will I — Will I really see him again?"

"You bet your fireballs you'll see him again." Erinae jumped to him and nuzzled his chin. She felt his heart begin to race. "I ain't gonna hurt you this time. Just listen for a sec, alright? We're gonna win."

She hadn't realized until she told Jayce that those words had power. That believing them had power. And she wanted to spread it to others.

"We — how do you know?" Caelyn's voice was very soft.

"You shittin' me? We got your fiery ass! We got me and I'm rad as hell!" She hugged him tight, felt the brief moment of connection as their bodies aligned. Like stars. After a shivery moment, he hugged her back, just as tight. "Fuck, dude. Just between the two of us we got this in the bag. Never mind all the shiny boys."

"I've understood about an eighth of what you've said." Caelyn rested a cheek against the top of her head. Being held was nice. First by Ryland last night, then the girl right now. The warmth…"But — I believe you, somehow."

"Yeh. Holy hell, I can't wait to meet you in real life." She closed her eyes and smiled. It just felt right. Not necessarily love, but — a link. A strong one.

A thought struck him. It was so strange he almost didn't want to speak it aloud. "You're — You're Erin the Riv, aren't you? Erin Riveria?" _The most notorious child prostitute in Noxus? In my arms, in this beautiful celestial dream? _

_Truly? _

But it was true.

"That was my slave name. I'm just Erinae now." She kissed his cheek. "You'll see him again."

"If we're successful," the Aurora interrupted. She gave them an odd look. Was it pity? Empathy? Unwilling fondness? It mattered not. "Ta - aikah."

"Totem pole to you too, lady. Or whatever." Erin was too busy looking at Caelyn's rainwater eyes. _So fuckin' cool. _

Liliana groaned, then brought her hands together, and the dream began to shatter into millions of fragile, fluttering stained-glass butterfly wings. Erinae managed one last huge grin and another kiss on Caelyn's cheek before she woke up in Jayce's arms.

Caelyn woke up alone. In the dark.

* * *

_The Center World_

The ease with which Skylan picked the abandoned house's lock caught Ryland's attention.

"Wh —"

Skylan turned to grin at him. "Yes?"

"I — nothing. Nothing at all." Ryland shivered. A cold wind blew dead leaves down the street, swirling them into particolored patterns.

"Aven's often wanted to get close to relics, art and the like. Closer than he should." A pause. "Far closer."

"So you snuck him in?" Ezreal looked impressed. He was intimately familiar with museum security systems, having been on advising boards for quite a few. But that was so long ago it seemed like a footnote. The phrase _in a different lifetime _hadn't meant much to him in the past, but now…

The Fairlight house was well kept. Preserved and stocked with food.

"Aye. Often." Another pause. "Sometimes with unintended consequences."

"What do you mean?" Ryland scanned the cupboards. After months of little to no eating, the scent of basil stirred his appetite.

"I can show you." Skylan half-smiled. "You don't know what you're getting into with Sky Child. But you'll learn."

The first memory — a sparsely-furnished modern art museum. All the lights were turned down low, everything wreathed in mysterious gray, their footsteps echoing and echoing again against the glossy lightwood floors.

Aven was standing critically before a tall, gray-green statue of a half-naked woman, frowning at it while Skylan sighed heavily and repeatedly checked his glowing Pilt Customs watch. The Guardian was absorbed in thoughts of their hotel room — Aven knew he only agreed to this sort of thing when Skylan was desperately horny.

_Are we fini — what the hell are you doing? _

_Hmm? _Aven traced the curve of the woman's jaw, then cupped her voluminous breasts. And squeezed them. _You're still here? _

_Uhhh. _Skylan's eyes narrowed.

_The Roxanna of Willoughbury's a fine woman, no? _

Skylan watched with a dark mixture of amusement and horror as Aven nuzzled her softly rounded chin, even though it was made of stone. _I — what? _

_Mhm. _Aven interlaced his warm fingers with her well-sculpted, cold stone ones and gazed lovingly up at her stoic face. _She's truly wondrous. _

Skylan gaped at him. _Can we — no. Nope. _

_No what? _Aven blinked at him. _I'm a bit busy here, Skylan — _

_I'm not letting you fucking — _Skylan realized he was sputtering. Of everything bizarre Aven had ever done, this was pretty far up the list. _I'm not letting you molest a poor defenseless statue. _

_But she's so pretty. _Aven's eyelashes fluttered, and Skylan darted forward and snatched his wrist. He dragged him away effortlessly — he was light as a twig. Maybe lighter. _But Skylan —_

_That's a fucking statue. No. _

_There be beauty in everythin', _Aven huffed. He paused as Skylan disabled the next room's laser-sweeping security, then crept past the guard dogs, grumbling in their sleep. The Guardian wanted to say something, but could think of nothing. He couldn't form words until they were out, into the warm, arid Shurimanan night. Aven was still scowling.

_So. What. No natural women, but a godsdamned — artifact — and you're just as hard as she is? What the hell? _

_Just wouldn't understan', _Aven sighed, and Skylan laughed, incredulous.

_I wouldn't understand? I don't think anyone would understand. _

_Why wouldn't y'let me —_

_Fuck the fucking statue? _A group of drunken tourists paused to glance at them, then scurried away, whispering.

_Y'know. _Aven nudged him. _Have a moment. _

Skylan snorted. _Wouldn't want you to get her pregnant. _

In the present, in the dim chilly Fairlight house, Ryland and Ezreal were both staring at Skylan. There were noodles boiling on the stove. The Guardian added a pinch of herbs that didn't grow in their world with a smirk.

"My brother's fucking crazy," Ezreal muttered, shaking his head. He was thinking of the day he'd wanted to hug the Demacian knight replica and trying not to blush. _I've never wanted to fuck one, though. _

"Wow. I guess —" Ryland squeezed the forearm that led to his destroyed hand and savored the lightly painful tingle. "I don't know anything about him at all, do I?"

"No, and he's entirely nutty, I agree. But you'll love him, Ryland."

"Really?"

Skylan grinned wolfishly. "No choice, is there?"

Ryland sighed. "No. Not really." He paused. "Though that pregnant comment sounded sort of serious —"

"Oh, there's that, too." Skylan laughed. "He's going to be so mad at me for telling you all this, but it's best you know now."

_I wish he'd be the one to tell me, _Ryland thought. He noticed Ezreal's sidelong glance and swallowed hard.

Memory two — a hotel room, late at night. A conference tomorrow. Aven had finished his cue cards and appeared to be writing in his journal. But Skylan knew he was just doodling.

As for the Guardian, he'd taken a call for Aven on the hotel's viewscreen. He was currently staring blankly at an Ionian nun.

_You — what? _

_Eight children, all at once. Beneath the full moon. And there was an aurora spread across the sky if I've ever seen one. It's summer right now, in the lowlands. _

_And you think they're his, _Skylan said flatly. He glanced up at Aven, who wasn't paying attention. He was clearly lost in thought. Probably thinking of birds or some shit. _Look. He didn't leave my side at all. Not for more than five minutes. And I sincerely doubt he'd — ah — procreate with a bunch of novice females. _

_But they're his, _the nun said stubbornly. _They have to be, don't they? With three virgins and four infertile ones? _

Skylan squeezed his temples tight. _But —_

_And they've got green eyes. _He could tell from the nun's tone that she wasn't lying. _All of 'em to a one. _

_Aven! _Skylan roared. The boy fell off the bed and scrambled over to him.

_That be your General voice. Havin' Willow-Dove flashbacks. _He clasped Skylan's biceps and batted his eyelashes. _General Whitefield. Don't beat me please, sir. I been good. _

_You've got children. _

_Hm? _He blinked.

_Remember the Ionian nunnery? _Skylan struggled to speak past his clenched teeth.

_The Clouded Bell? _Aven nodded then spotted the nun. _Ah! Hi, _Sensatori_ Cherispi. _

_Good evening, _she said warmly, then followed it in Ionian, which Skylan didn't speak. He could barely follow it. Caught the words _father _and _unbroken circle. _

Aven nodded. _Well, madam, _he said in Demacian. _I did offer some very strong words of caution about performing the fertility ceremony. _

Skylan gaped at them. _What? _They ignored him.

The nun nodded back, eyes glittering. _And this isn't unheard of. So? They do have your blessing? _

_Aye. Of course. _The viewscreen winked off. Aven was smiling.

Skylan grabbed his shoulders. _What? _

_Mhm. I warned 'em. Always do. _Aven chuckled. _They never listen. _

_You always warn them? _

_Aye._

Skylan felt the world sway. _H — how many children do you have?_

_Amahe and I didn't know what was goin' on. So we spent an entire year tourin' nunneries when I's about twelve and — well — _Aven had the courtesy to blush. _Probably a hundred. Probably more. _

Skylan couldn't breathe. He wheezed. _And you just — leave them? _

_They're in temples. And those temples usually have pretty good healin' powers after I visit. Does a ton of good for the villages. Weather, crops and such. _He let green light play around his fingertips and grinned. _I wonder why, don't you? _

_You leave them, _Skylan repeated.

_Y'want t'go and get them? I didn't realize you was such a family man._ Aven rested his chin on Skylan's chest.

_No, but —_

_Then hush, brute. Time for rest. _

_Children. _Skylan glowered. _Have you ever even slept with a woman? _

_Not a one. _He kissed Skylan's palm and crawled into bed. The Guardian spent an hour staring at the ceiling, then fell asleep. What else was there to do?

In the present, Ryland massaged his temples. "Holy shit." Swearing still felt strange, but in this case, it seemed appropriate.

"Aye." Skylan's eyes twinkled as he filled their bowls with heaping amounts of noodles and broth. "Strange things happen when you're with the God of Creation."

Ezreal closed his eyes. Aven had hundreds of children wandering this universe, and he…

He thought of Luxanna's agony, her pain. A single life snuffed before it could start.

_I guess strange things happen when you're with the God of Destruction, too. _

Ryland brushed his shoulder. _It's alright. _

_Thank you._

They ate in silence and followed Skylan upstairs. Ryland heard the Guardian think _I suppose I'd be fairly down if I were them. Though I'd still be a bit more excited if I were in a different world. _

It was difficult to even move. Depression — a thick black cloud of it — seemed to be hovering around his ankles and elbows. Ezreal was tired, too. Neither one of them were glowing. Ryland already missed the light.

There were two rooms with an adjoining door. Skylan shrugged. "Sir Ryland and I take the large one, Ez the small?"

Ezreal snorted. "You two aren't gonna bang, are you?" He tried to capture Skylan's odd Center World accent and failed magnificently.

Skylan smiled broadly. "Not unless you care to watch."

Ryland choked, then coughed so hard he doubled over. It felt like his lungs were coming undone from their bindings.

Ezreal ignored this and shook his head. "Nope. G'night."

"Good night."

Ezreal shut the door joining the rooms and flopped onto the mattress, burying his nose in the floral pillowcase. The strange scent — a person unknown, and exotic flowers — should've disturbed him. But the bed was far too soft for that, soft on his weary muscles.

Images flickered past, wavering like the stripes of faint moonlight through the trees and through the window. The boot on the back of Ryland's neck. Harsh desperation clawing up Ezreal's throat. It hurt.

The sea of red and the words shifting seamlessly from _sun child sun child sun child _to _save him save him save him_. Something to cling on to in the middle of the snow, cold, white. _He's mine. I own him. _Ryland's jaw — _I'm hurting him. Again. _

Then the weird, terrifying sensation of Ryland's undisguised worship. Feeling it fuel the red. Then falling. Falling a lot. Ezreal had leapt from many sheer cliffs into the ocean — off a building once, for the thrill of it. But nothing like this fall. He couldn't even Arcane Shift.

He'd opened his eyes once and seen Ryland plummeting beside him like a falling star through the black, wreathed in silken silver, his gray-green eyes fixed on Ezreal's own through a sheaf of black hair. Wind rippled past them, ruffled their clothes. He'd smiled and lost consciousness, felt Ryland lose consciousness soon after.

Then Skylan, who he'd only seen from Ryland's memories. Real. He seemed to cut through reality as boldly as a sword, and Ez's pummeled mind subconsciously began to refer to him as _anchor_.

Most of him was happy that Skylan was friendly. Different from Ryland, but made from the same stuff. It was funny to watch them walk together, to see what Ryland would look like if he was healthy and had muscles. And to see him be nice to Ryland — that was nice, too.

_What the hell is Lux going to think of this? And what do I say to her? 'I'm god, do you still love me?'_

_Well, she loved that Caelyn kid, _something whispered.

Ez shook his head. _Nope. And after we meet again, it'll be me. _

If he was honest with himself — honest the way Skylan encouraged him to be — Ezreal wanted Lux to feel like Ryland did.

Ezreal rolled onto his stomach, hugging himself and blushing. A boy in the dark.

That worship. Necessity. And maybe just the slightest tinge of fear. That's what Ryland was hiding at his core. Had been hiding. Now that Ezreal knew it was there, he could sense it. It made him feel good. That had to be what love was like.

_Maybe Lux is hiding it, too. _

The intellectual part of him — Ezreal of Piltover, not _Sit'ra_ or _Tai - Aitah_ Ezreal — knew that most likely wasn't true. Most of Luxanna's gods, like Saint Garamond and Michael the Archangel, had crumbled in his absence.

_I can fix that. Just wait until she sees what I can do. I'm stronger than any of those guys. _Pause. _And that Caelyn kid. _

Then, _I just want her to love me. Actually love me. _

He nosed deeper into the faded floral bedspread and slept. And he dreamt of Luxanna Crownguard being crowned Queen of Demacian heaven.

And despite the crowd, her train and dress of glittering gold, the feast and revelry (_why does everyone have black hair?)_ she had eyes only for him.

"Gotta learn to take a joke, Sir Ryland. Tough love."

Ryland pulled his boots off, still damp with snow from another world. He chuckled. "I've had enough of that."

"From Ez?" Skylan stretched out. He wasn't trying to demonstrate how massive he was. He couldn't help it. "That's nothing."

Weary, Ryland took Skylan's hand and shoved every Merilyn memory he could find his way. The Guardian drew away, startled.

"Wellaway."

"Well away from there." Ryland rested beside him. He was still waiting to feel guilt for — well, anything. Quinn, trolls. Aven. Demacian soldiers. Lux. There wasn't any. He flinched when Skylan put an arm around him. "Pl —"

"Not going to do anything, Sir Ryland. Does it look like I want to get destroyed? Possessive as all hell. And I know," he said before Ryland could speak. "I know you're just friends."

"Mhm." Ryland hesitated, then leaned into him. "I can't wait to go home."

"Noxus?"

"I — I guess so." Ryland shook his head and wrapped his arms around Skylan's chest. The Guardian hid his grin. "Never been. Have you?"

"Mhm. Aven hated it."

Ryland frowned. "Why?" _Oh, great. I'm a dark sorcerer and king of a country he hates? Fantastic. _

Skylan's grin almost slipped through. There was such an honest frustration to the thought it was funny. "Right after I won the Fleshing and everyone was at peace, I went on vacation with dad and he appointed me honorary fourth-in-command. I was an honorary Eagle in Demacia, too."

_Of course, _he heard Ryland think, and stroked his hair. _Meanwhile, in Comet Division. _"Mhm?"

"So everyone thought Aven was my Willow-Dove. They started calling him Whitefield Boy. He lost his shit, but in the Aven way."

"Which is?"

"Quietly." Skylan listened to the house creak and reflected he could get used to this. Sir Ryland was a good listener. "I saw him take a boy's hands in his. And he said, 'That brute and I are equals, understand? He doesn't own me.'"

"I didn't realize he valued his freedom so much."

"Like Ezreal, I reckon. They wander. But the Dove said, 'Not in size and weight you aren't. Not even all your books can make you that big.'"

"Oh gods." Ryland closed his eyes. Skylan's breaths reminded him of a waterfall, for some reason. _I want to meet Aven so badly…_

"And Aven says, 'We are equal of mind.' And the Dove says, 'Then why's he in the military when you aren't?' And Aven snaps, 'You're a slave.'"

"That was rather rude," Ryland said softly. _Ezreal's brother. _

_Family resemblance strong, eh? _Skylan thought to him. He could almost hear Aven's sarcastic imitation of the Dove, see his green eyes crackling with rage. "And the Dove said, 'It doesn't matter what you write. So long as General Whitefield is happy.'"

Ryland froze. Skylan nodded.

"Sound familiar?"

"Y - yeah. Yeah, actually." Ryland paused. "Are they all like that? Every Willow-Dove?"

"More or less. Most of them lead very independent lives, but think that way."

_So I'm Ezreal's Dove. Minus the cute shirt and tie. _Ryland frowned. "And I guess Caelyn Falin and I have more in common than I thought. Or want to think."

"He's real in your world? Ah, why do I sound surprised?" Skylan rolled over and pulled Ryland closer.

"What is he in yours?"

"A ghost. A little angel that shows up and tells the Doves not to kill themselves. He saved a bunch of 'em, too. Killed a renegade Battle Saint who was about to sacrifice a bunch of them to Sit'ra one Hallow's Eve. I suppose you have that holiday, right?"

"With the masks?"

"Aye. We didn't know what it was — Aven and I saw it because we were going to save them. This huge flare of white fire. Flaming sword. He ran the Battle Saint through, then said real calmly to the Doves — scared right out of their mind — 'Where is he? Where is my master? General Demetrius — something?' I can't quite remember. And Aven managed to say 'We know no one by that name.' And he fell to his knees, shaking and sobbing. Looked at the full moon and whispered 'It was all a beautiful dream, wasn't it, sir?'"

Ryland covered his face and groaned. "Yep. Sounds like him."

"Real character." _I wouldn't want to have anything in common with him, either. _

"I met him. I have his memories. He walked up to me and said, 'May I?' 'May you what?' And then he hugged me because he hadn't had anyone from Noxus hold him in a long time." Pause. "I promised to help him find his master."

"Have you gone through them? His memories, I mean?"

"Haven't had time. Or energy." Ryland massaged his temples. "Ezreal was pissed. Because Caelyn's obviously another reflection. Another — "

"Tiny gay one?"

"Essentially," Ryland sighed. "I think he said 'Why do you keep getting all the cool ones, Ryland?'"

Skylan considered, then nodded. "We should probably sort through them. I can help you organize them." Ryland looked at him strangely, as best as Skylan could tell in the dark. "What?"

"Like — a filing cabinet?"

"Aye. Though we call them folder-drawers here." Ryland's smile made Skylan want to go back through the Sorcerer's memories and fix them. Make them happy, so he could see that smile more.

"That's so stupid. So fucking stupid."

"It's a drawer with folders." Skylan squeezed his undamaged hand. "Ah, let's just get to the kid's crazy mind. We can argue names later."

"How do you know he's crazy?"

"Do normal people set themselves on fire and run weeping through other worlds? Kill others then cry out for people?"

Ryland fixed his eyes on the ceiling. "He and I have a lot in common. That's really weird."

"That someone would have so much in common with you?"

"Aye."

"You're joking, right?" Ryland shook his head and Skylan chuckled.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing, Sir Ryland." _You've got a godsdamned reflection of yourself lying next to you, you unobservant tree branch. _

_Ah. _Ryland's face warmed, radiating through Skylan's shirt. _Tree branch? _

_Never mind. We'll be here all night if we start with the sayings._

The two of them flipped through Caelyn's memories. Skylan reached for the ones tinted with silver-hued lust, some of it human, some of it not.

_Already found the good stuff. _

Ryland smacked him. _Come on. _

_Oh, right. As if you didn't do that immediately when you got Aven's._

_Nope. _Ryland hesitated. _Not immediately. _

_Mhmmm. _

The moment of merriment was short-lived, like most moments of humor in Ryland's life, but pleasant.

Then the Wheel turned, of course, and Ryland saw one that gave him pause.

" — _anything for you." Surrounded by the dead, trying to stop them, he doesn't need to know. Now he does — don't take me back please. Pleaseeee. Need the blood not because it's blood, but because it's his. That's not entirely true that I don't need it. Not entirely true. The two combined. Heaven. Everything is warm. _

Skylan blanched, then gagged. "Oh. Oh, holy fuck. You and Ezreal into that shit?"

"No. Hell no. This kid's crazy." But Ryland's heart was thudding and cold. Different actions, but the feelings were the same and — reciprocated.

He watched one memory of a young Caelyn reading, then being snatched into arms, then petted and nuzzled. Heard his purrs running through him. The man holding him at arm's length, smiling bashfully, and murmuring "_I should probably quit treating you like a cat, shouldn't I?" "No problem on my end, sir." Please don't. I'll figure out how to turn into a cat. Give me a month. _

Skylan mouthed _what the fuck_. But Ryland — the middle of his throat felt like acid. Burned worse than Ezreal's fingers on his jaw.

_Riding home, vaulting off my horse straight into Sir's arms — bloody armor and all, I'm sorry I can't wait. His heartbeat. They kept me for an entire week even though I set everyone on fire and wanted to go home. _But — and — _he kisses my forehead, rubs my pulse points and murmurs "I've been waiting for you." The screams in my ears fade. _

"Ryland? Are you going to be alright?" Skylan felt the first faint touch of fear. Ryland was shaking.

_Spring rain, blue sky. Kneeling in a corner, sorry he had to find me like this. "I chose you from them. So how could I possibly find you ugly?" "M - my - my hands." "They're still your hands." Complete and utter calm. The ripped hands being taken in larger, gentle ones. Gods, don't touch them, they're too ugly. But he does anyway. I feel better. "So I love them." _

"Ryland." Skylan took his shoulders and was confronted with a spiral of Caelyn's memories. His best friends Ryan and Wren. The Doves whispering together under trees, in tents, in the barn. Years of adoration and friendship. Laughter. The military accolades — Luxanna Crownguard's shy blush, Darius' proud smile, tears in Kat's eyes. _I'm so - so fucking proud. The Generals_ _were his friends too. Noxus adored him, and —_

"Ryland."

"He even had pets," Ryland whispered. _A black mare nuzzling his scarred palm. _"He had everything. And he — he killed himself?" He grabbed Skylan, who flinched away from the raw fury in Ryland's eyes. "I kept going off a dream that I didn't know was real. 'Hang on, there'll be adventures yet.' And he had the Doves, the Generals, and — and —"

_General Falin._

From the corner of his eye, Skylan noticed that the mirror opposite the bed appeared to be dripping, the glass melting. The drops — thick, syrupy — fell to the ground, then formed into — those were Shades, weren't they?

They looked like shadows. The tree branches shifted, a beam of moonlight shone through the window. Their eyes lit up like fire, embers, then faded. Skylan saw a glitter of teeth — lots of teeth — and grabbed Ryland.

"It's going to be alright. Listen to me." Shades swept out from under the bed with a flair of shadow-skin. Skylan could hear them now, moaning and static and burning. There were about forty of them, crammed into one humble room, standing over them with steely eyes. Waiting for a wordless command. Skylan forced himself to hold Ryland tighter. "I know it hurts."

"How?" His voice was cracked, broken. The Shades echoed him — _how_? More of them stepped from the black. The hiss of snakes. The bedroom itself seemed to be melting now — the walls were wavering, plastic, with thick strands of black writhing across the family photos, the cheerful cuckoo clock. Skelgarn. "How could he?"

Skylan was distantly impressed, somewhere away from the horror. One stray movement and he'd be torn to bits. He himself was only able to summon two full Shades at a time.

There were seventy at least. A forest of them.

"I don't know. He's stupid. He's a stupid kid."

"I hate him," Ryland whispered, then squeezed his eyes shut and gasped in agony. Was this what Ezreal felt all the time? The red firebird wings arching and spreading inside, becoming one with his ribs? No wonder he set it all on fire.

"And that's alright. Just make the Shades go away."

_Oliver asked me the same thing once. _

"Yeah, and I'm not him, in case you've forgotten." Skylan stroked Ryland's cheek. "Please, Ryland. You're better than this. You've already proven it."

He watched with unspeakable, chilly relief as the Shades collapsed into black piles of sand. With whispers and promises of threats.

"I'm sor —" Ryland swallowed, then coughed. He was pale. His eyes were shattered with flecks of black. "Sorry."

"I'm alive. No need to be sorry." Skylan swiped a large palm over Ryland's forehead. He was warm. "Sleep. You've had a — pretty long day, to say the least. What with the dimension hopping, and — Ian and — I shouldn't've pushed you." _I'm stupid. Good lord. _

_Not everyone be as strong as y'be, silly, _Skylan heard Aven murmur. _Not in the same ways. _

Ryland was asleep in instants. Skylan paused — _do I really want to see his mind after that? _— then closed his eyes and dove in anyway.

_I don't think Aven knows what he's getting into either…_

But for now it was merely a series of painful comparisons, throbbing with hatred and envy. Walls containing them finally worn away.

"_Why do I go out with him?" That Oliver kid, explaining something to someone obviously low-bred. Michael Whitefield hidden, reading, listening, hurting. "Because I'm poor as fuck and he buys me dinner. That's all." "You sure?" "Yep. He's loaded. Probably thinks it's funny." A few hours later. Whitefield hides against the corner of the room. "You heard me, didn't you?" Oliver looks away and sighs into his palm. "You can't win in this fucking place, can you?" _

"_You dare oppose me. Over a boy." Jericho Swain's voice thick with disgust. Demetrius roars bitter laughter into the faces of Darius, Kat, Swain over a vast, darkwood dining table. The three most powerful people in Noxus. Caelyn shivers on the floor, blood streaming, weeping from his hands. "I do far more than oppose. If you so much as threaten to harm him, I'm gone from this godsforsaken country." "You're not —" "I'm entirely serious. But I'll be back to hear your screams as the Demacians eat you all alive. I'm the only reason you're winning this godsdamned war and you know it. You know it." "This is the most I've ever heard you say," Darius says, half awed, deeply disturbed. "And the first you've ever said anything good about yourself. Because of — what was his name?" "Caelyn. Now. Please leave my house." Demetrius is trembling slightly. "I've got more important things to attend to." _

_A banquet. In the gym. Mandatory. Limp blue balloons flopping from the corners, cold rain. Michael leaning as usual against a wall, glancing up over the top of his book. Roxie was pretty, he thought. Oliver's girlfriend. Good for him. Even if that dress is third-hand, probably more. He hears her ask, "That strange one's not your friend, is he? The one by the corner? The one you always write about?" Pause. "No. Whitefield couldn't make it tonight." _

"_We really shouldn't. I'm going to die of embarrassment." "Oh, please. After the opera? Come here, boy." An effortless waltz across the floor, a blur of rich crimson dresses and shiny black boots. Turning in unison with all of Noxus. Torn hand clasped in his. Him leading, of course. The windows are dressed with gold — the tables glitter with Ionian crystal, darkle with sumptuous Noxian wine. Chandeliers almost dazzle. Demetrius and General Isaacs exchange a nod — both of their dance partners are in dress black, coated with golden military medals. General Rowan's face is as pink as Caelyn's. Afterwards Caelyn hides his burning face in Demetrius' white _Carandelli _shirt, shivers with pleasure at the hand on the back of his neck. _

Skylan gritted his teeth as he spotted a few of Aven's memories bubbling upward, too, taking their place beside Caelyn's. Aven's memories edged with green and gold, Caelyn's with red and black. Ryland's colorless, aching, empty.

_I'll fix it. Me and Aven will fix it. _Skylan rubbed his palm over Ryland's heart and listened to the abandoned town settle around them. _We will. I swear it to you. _

Then the thought slipped through his grasp. On one side, Demetrius was leading Caelyn through the rain, holding his wrist, both of them laughing. On the other, Skylan had Aven on his back in Ionia. The Guardian was scowling as the Lightbringer tugged on his ears. In the middle, Ryland and Oliver struggling through frigid puddles and muddied roads, not even looking at one another.

_I promise. _Echoes from the Wheel.

But the words that echoed back to Skylan were as eerie as the Shades. _I'm going to hurt him. He deserves it. _

* * *

_The Southern World: The Haven_

The chamber at the top of the spire was well-furnished, but intimate. Luxanna's angelic face was frozen in a frown as she showered and changed into the featureless nightgown from the dresser. _He had a brother? Why didn't he tell me? Is that why he went north, to meet up with him? _

Never mind that the little Pilt-tongued child often glanced at her, eyes bright, as if trying to discern some secret. When she returned from the shower, Aven was spread out on the bed with a circle of old, thick books around his willowy legs. _Sorcerer's circle. _She remembered other Demacian children making them when they were bored and tired.

He wordlessly cleared the bed, let her fall into a broken, fitful sleep. _Ezreal — I'm sorry I left you. Where are you? _

Oliver watched Aven reading. He loudly cleared his throat when Aven hesitantly touched his bare foot to Luxanna's.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Scowlin' at me's not goin' t'make me go away." Aven smiled bitterly.

Oliver's eyebrows rose. "No — I meant — her feet."

"Oh. That. They're wonderful, aren't they?"

"Uhhhh." Oliver's eyes narrowed, and Aven paused.

"Y'know. Y'gotta lot in common with my husband."

"T - thank you?" Oliver stared harder.

"I meant the lack of sense of humor."

"Oh." Oliver blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Never mind." Aven rolled his eyes. "Guess y'gotta brain to match that oxen figure of yours."

Oliver leaned his chair back until it rested against the wall, trying not to snap. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction. But he was right — it took almost all of his concentration just to understand his accent. _And Ryland understands him perfectly. _

"Aye, maybe, but I sure's hell don't understan' you." Aven's eyes were expressionless.

"Another mind reader." He was unsurprised. "Great."

"Not t'much of interest in your brain. Just mainly wonderin' why you hurt him."

"That's none of your business," Oliver said calmly, though his fists were clenching of their own volition.

"Well," Aven said slowly. "Seein' as y'ruined his life, I'd like t'know."

"Ruined his life? What are you talking about?" Oliver smirked, though he didn't feel it. He felt hollow and cold. "He's got you, doesn't he?"

"Got me t'fix it, aye. But he's in real bad shape. Part of why I'm so angry at dad." Aven huffed and looked away. "S'posed t'meet him and help him. He's love-starved."

Oliver winced and hoped Aven hadn't caught it. He knew he had. He glanced at Lux to make sure she was asleep, closed his eyes, and asked softly, "Was it really that bad?"

"Surely you're joking, right?" Aven's feral smile flashed teeth.

"No. I'm not." Oliver watched as Aven chuckled and shook his head. "What's funny?"

"I've seen his memories. All of 'em, f'better or worse. And t'be quite honest, I'm not surprised you died. Surprised it was so quick, though." Aven fixed his glowing green eyes on Oliver's pale blue ones. "You tortured him."

"I didn't —" Luxanna stirred, and Oliver lowered his voice. He didn't realize he was leaning into Aven. "Torture is a very strong word."

"Really." A quick shuffle of Whitefield's memories. One of the worst ones — _You know, if you'd - you'd ask, and were slightly gentler - _a broken laugh - _this could actually work. _

_What could? _

_You —_

_Shut up. _A blow to the jaw that should've broken it, but didn't. Whitefield had bones of steel.

A whisper. _And me. _Then a hushed sob onto Oliver's own chest.

Oliver stared at Aven, who had bared his teeth. "How the fuck do _you _know about that?"

"Y'really are a dunce, aren't you? I have his memories, you godsdamned ox."

"But —"

"And when King Ryland comes t'save me from this — barbaric wasteland — you'll die again. No more chances. It's the Abyss. The Hereafter f'you. I've seen it." Aven suddenly reached out and snatched Oliver's wrist. The sound rose in his ears. Vast creaking, groaning. Then screams of pain, vibrant with insanity. Electric with it. The howling, whirling dark.

Oliver recoiled and fell against the wall, shaking and shivering. Aven stood over him.

"That —"

"Is eternity," Aven finished. "If y'don't find some way to fix it."

"There's no way I can —" Oliver gulped. "I can't. There's no way to make it up to him."

"Well, y'better find a way." Aven resettled into his chair with a different book. _Freljordian Myths. _He looked deeply satisfied. His eyes glowed with triumph. "Wheel turns, friend."

"I know." Oliver hid his face. _Godsdamnit. I know. _

Luxanna still slept.

* * *

_The Northern World: Noxus_

And one final move, one final position before the Wheel could turn towards its end.

Darius watched the Generals gathering. He watched in particular General Augustine Hale ruffle his Dove Nikolai's light hair. General Hale had icy blue eyes. Piercing. Cold. But they were smiling as his large hand scratched beneath Nikolai's chin, squeezed his shoulder, massaged his wrist. It was all too easy to imagine that hand wandering a little too far, towards —

"Darius." Charles White sounded ill. The way he had when he saw one of the Battle Saints with their face melted off. "Do my eyes deceive me?"

Darius looked and almost collapsed. "Demetrius, is that —"

"Meridian." Demetrius's smile was fierce with hope, his back straight and proud for the first time in — who knew. The other Generals had all backed away. "She was standing in the stables. Thank the heavens for the small blessings in life."

"Caelyn's horse. Just standing there," Degardo echoed. His hand was anxiously caressing Cressida's round right breast, though he and everyone else hadn't noticed.

"Aye." Meridian the hell-mare — her eyes were molten red, not even trying to disguise her true nature. And shadows seemed to ripple off her mane and tail, fall to the cobblestone ground. "Well? Shall we go?"

"Aye." Darius had a moment of swelling vertigo. _It's real. King Ryland, Caelyn risen in flame. Sit'ra. It's real. _"Aye, yes. Let's."


	6. Reflections

Ian Lightbringer — Death — adjusted the lapels of his sleek Noxian suit. The Star Children were even easier to understand and pacify than the Moon Children, driven as they were by basic needs and insatiable animal hunger. He checked his smile in the glittering fountain outside his and Liliana's palace. Charming. Impossible to resist.

_ Well, for all but the Aurora, that was. But that mattered not. _

_Ezreal, Sun Child. Aven, Sky Child. Ryland, Moon Son. Skylan, Son of the Wind, though he too was soulless, a moon child. _

He'd almost forgotten Caelyn and Erinae — many people did — but he could fix that.

So thinking, he flung open the double doors with a greeting on his lips.

They weren't there. The palace was empty, save for Liliana at the loom. Weaving, ever weaving. She had red blisters on her fingertips and clouds beneath her eyes. Still, she summoned a triumphant smile.

"Beat y'."

"For now," Ian said softly. His voice reflected none of the frosty rage he felt in his bones. He stepped back out the door, looked at the planet-bejeweled sky, and snarled in silent fury.

* * *

Jayce couldn't lie. When he woke up and Erinae was gone, he panicked. He shook Graves awake and flung things around their tiny metallic room, quaking, until Graves slapped him briskly and pointed to a piece of paper on the ground.

I'm outside, babycakes. XOXO

"…Oh." _Well, I feel dumb now. _

"Yar. Sometimes I wonder how you 'n Godboy got to be so smart."

"Thanks." Jayce shook his head. "Hey — wait. Me and Erinae still bug you, don't we?"

The look Graves gave him made Jayce take a step back. "Bug me to watch Catgirl molest someone who could be her daddy? Little bit." Graves shrugged. "But can't help bein' bothered. "Not anymore 'en you can keep your nasty hands offa her."

The Outlaw's accent was getting worse, as was Erinae's. Malcolm gathered their supplies into his arms and strode away, his footsteps booming in the empty metal rooms.

"I would've been fifteen," Jayce muttered, then sighed. Ezreal had wanted to keep Lux's baby at, what, seventeen? Piltover grew 'em young.

The dawn was only just unfurling, a dainty rose-petal pink banner overtaking the gray. It was nice, but Jayce would've traded it for a tropical storm on the beach. Without hesitation. When he got home — wherever the fuck that was, now — he was buying a sauna. And living in it.

Then he saw Graves squinting at the ground and Erinae beaming proudly and paused. A map and compass, carefully etched in the snow.

"Defender-man! You like?"

Jayce knelt beside the lines, examining them. "Where'd you get this?" _Not even Ezreal knew where we were. _

"From a dream. Duh." Erinae's smile was brighter than the dawning sun. Jayce reflected briefly on his instinctive trust for a dream map. The world really had gone to shit, hadn't it? When a dream map was their best option?

Graves wasn't so sure. "Dream of what?"

"Lady with green eyes. I think it was Ez's mom." Erin did a cartwheel and landed in a puff of white. "And I got to meet Caelyn Falin, and he's so fuckin' hot —"

"Caelyn Falin?" Graves' frown deepened, and it wasn't just because his ears felt frostbitten.

"Yeh! You know him? Isn't he cool?" Erinae rolled around in the snow by Jayce's feet. The Defender hesitated, then answered her smile.

Graves clutched at his temples. _Noxus with a group — a band he rode with after Fate. Never quite the same. The room got quiet when a man walked in, he said "I'm not the fun police, the hell?" and sat at Graves' table with a huge grin. "I've heard of you, Malcolm Graves."_

"Cowboy?"

"Hush, Catgirl. I'm thinkin'."

"_Vincent Degardo. Pleased to meet you." A real life Noxian General — not too often you saw one of those up close. And lived. Everyone watched as Graves won three of five games against him. Degardo was impressed. "You're fine men and I've been snubbed by the others. Let me treat you tonight." Then he led Graves and his starstruck, rag-tag band to the outskirts of the city. _

"You know Degardo too?" Erinae's grin lost a little gumption. Jayce blinked, realized that she could see Malcolm's memory and he couldn't. "He was a —"

"Shhh. In a sec. I'm old. Gotta focus."

_Falin Manor was full of little blonde boys and a few dark haired Commanders and Captains stuck child-sitting. Degardo introduced them. Graves watched the lower ranks try to capture the kids for a hug. For good luck, they said. They couldn't get them — the boys hissed at them, bit them because they weren't Generals. Malcolm said, "Now, c'mon. I don't deal in cathouses." _

Erinae scowled at Graves.

_But Degardo laughed. "Oh, how they would drop dead to hear that. Their precious Doves compared to cats." Lots of poker — fine wine, beer, food, cigars. When Degardo pulled a child's tie and felt him up in front of everyone, Graves was almost too drunk to care. "Show this man your transforming trick, will you, Caelyn? For daddy?" _

_The boy paused. "Where's master?" _

"_Come on, child." Degardo pinched his cheek, then his ass. "He'll be home soon." _

_A few moments later, a cute little red-gold fox came trotting out from the kitchen with a bottle of beer in its delicate mouth. Everyone roared laughter as it sat on its haunches and wagged its tail. _

_And as Graves watched, it turned back to the boy. Those silver eyes were still the same. Graves took the frosty bottle of beer from his tiny fingers and wondered what was in the food — or was Noxus really just this fuckin' weird? The Outlaw suddenly felt painfully sober. The boy smiled shyly._

"_You're supposed to pet him to let him know he's done well. They love to be petted. Right, Caelyn?" Degardo arched an eyebrow and yanked Caelyn into his lap, then scratched under his chin. The boy snuggled close. _

_Graves shook his head. "I don't pet little boys." _

_When Malcolm saw Foxboy on the news almost a decade later for killing a shitload of people, he recognized him. You didn't forget a face like that._

Graves looked up, satisfied his memory was in working order. "That Caelyn? Foxboy?"

"Yup. Ain't he cool?" But Erinae's voice, like her smile, had lost at least half of its cheer.

_I guess if y'live in the country he fought for, he ain't a murderer. He's a hero. _Graves was suddenly glad he wasn't from Demacia or Noxus. Too damn complicated.

"And what were you sayin' about Degardo? He and I played together a lot."

"He —" Erinae turned crimson against the snow. Jayce frowned. Shy wasn't really her style. "I —"

"Well, girlie? You were tryin' so hard to tell me —"

"He was a regular," she spat, then glowered at both of them. "A Good Man."

Graves huffed. _Godsdamnit. Shoulda known._ "Now that's horseshit. Ain't no Good Man —"

"He was, though." Erinae stuck her lower lip out. "He was real gentle, he tipped well —"

"Erin," Jayce said softly.

She ignored him. "And most of the time he bought me Ionian takeout from that place I liked, dumplings and fried cookies —"

Jayce covered his eyes with his hands. Graves was seething with rage.

"And half the time we just laid there and talked. He said I was cheaper than a Dove and a psychiatrist."

"He ain't a good man." Graves' voice rumbled like thunder across the snow. "An' that's that."

_But he was, _Erin thought, and closed her eyes, thinking of Vince Degardo's tender hands. The highest-ranked man who frequented Riveria's, and he wanted her. Erin the Riv and no other.

She'd have to talk Jayce into letting her wear a collar for him. Good memories.

"Alright. Fine. So he's a piece of shit. The important thing's the map, right?"

_Sure it is, _Graves and Jayce thought simultaneously, sarcastically. They could still hear each other. Barely. Jayce scanned the markings in the snow, then traced his own version of it out on the back of Erin's note with a pencil from his pocket. Inventors always had those things handy.

"Well. I'm not Ezreal, but —"

"Yeh? Did I do good?" Her cheerfulness was starting to flow back in.

"It looks — reasonable." _Yeah. That's the right word. Because I don't know if it's accurate. Or reliable. _

"So we headed back that way?" Graves winced. "Guess we have to, eh? Not like we can really wait for Lightboy and Godboy."

_They're not even in this world, _Jayce thought. He almost puked. "Yeah. Erin, can you still carry us?"

"Lazy asses." She smiled teasingly, then was a tiger, her huge paws sinking into the snow. Her golden eyes were entirely unreadable. Her breath poured out in a big white fog.

"We're headed out right now?" Jayce glanced up at the sky. Maybe the sauna could wait.

"Yar, Egghead. What, you wanna hang out in the garbage compactor for another day or two? Ain't had enough yet?" Some of the tension in Graves eased when Erinae chuffed. He could've sworn it was a laugh.

Jayce felt a small stab of completely irrational sadness as he settled onto Erinae's back. _Aw man. I guess our adventure really is almost over._

Back to the real world.

Back to trying to explain why his girlfriend was twelve and a cat.

Ta - aikah.

* * *

Sometimes, I've found, the Wheel just needs time. Time to be left on its own. The Aurora knew this, but that didn't stop her from biting her mortal nails to the quick as she waited. (Just as it doesn't stop me from pacing and muttering to myself).

Liliana's impromptu attendant Soraka learned the pattern and took over weaving for her occasionally. The cloth wasn't quite as sturdy, as perfect. But it would have to do. Soraka's fingers were unused to such labor and quickly grew scabbed. But with the fate of the Wheel — ta - kitair — turning 'round, she kept her hands moving.

The waiting lasted about a week and a half. A week and a half for Erinae to ferry the Defender and Outlaw through the snow-ocean, back to the desolate remains of Angel's Crossing. For the Generals to ride up north, all in good spirits. None more so than Demetrius — even the slightest prospect of hope filled his face with light.

When the Willow-Doves sang _Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú Aven! _He would call back, above the horses' clicking hooves and Meridian's soundless shadow ones_, Téir abhail gus fan sa bhaile Ave' tá do mhargadh déanta!_

"What are they saying?" General Degardo whispered to General Raeford one night over the fire. They were deep into the woods now. Demetrius was surrounded by golden haired sprites wrapped in blankets against the cold, whispering together with him. Wren White snuggled against his shoulder.

Raeford smiled into his cup of soup. "Sterling told me. It's one of the chants Caelyn taught them. Something about the first Willow-Dove's obedience."

"I miss that ugly little bastard," Degardo muttered.

"Mayhap you won't miss him for long." General Isaacs heard them and nodded towards where Darius was talking to Kat on a portable viewscreen. The government had loaned it to them. Considering they were the government, this was unsurprising.

"It was amazing," Kat was saying, eyes wide. She looked disheveled but hopeful. "The wolves just came from grass. Like they were grass, but they were wolves too, you know? And then there was a huge aurora. Him and Ezreal, I tell you. It's wonderful. It's scary but wonderful." _Like Noxus itself. _

"Eloquent as ever." Darius sounded sarcastic, but he was smiling. They all were.

A week and a half for Skylan, Ryland and Ezreal. For Ezreal to think at least five-thousand times _Of course we quit glowing when we need to glow. _For Skylan to share memories of Aven with Ryland — even the slightest one called back that charming smile.

The two Moon Children found one another's company very soothing. In fact, if Aven weren't in peril, and if Ezreal wasn't growing increasingly agitated, they could've been on a vacation.

They tried magic all day and rested uneasily at night in one another's arms. On the fourth night, Ryland lightly pressed Skylan's mind, only to find him examining Caelyn's memories. Not the most appropriate ones, either.

Ryland flicked him. _What the heck are you doing? _

_Hey, now. _Skylan let out a long, deep sigh. _Ah, who am I kidding. I'm bracing myself for Aven to like you more. _

_That — that won't happen. It can't. _Ryland rolled over.

_Oh? _Skylan chuckled. _You've been looking at the romantic memories all day. The gardening and the cuddling. And I've been being a voyeur. It's safe to assume —_

_It won't happen. _Ryland squeezed his arm. He heard a faint echo of a breathless whisper from his mind — _…master, please?_

Ryland turned bright pink.

_Mhm. You two've got more in common. That's all there is to it. _Skylan cracked his knuckles and fell asleep without another word.

Ryland could still effortlessly rip into the Void. But try as Skylan did, he couldn't push past the softly-throbbing purple. On the tenth day, a frustrated Ezreal hurled a bolt of red into the gash. It shut with a _snap_. The explosion was deafening.

"Oookay," Skylan breathed when they could hear again. "Probably not the best idea."

"But we've got to save her." Ezreal's snarl, Skylan knew, concealed fear, nervousness.

Ryland was rapidly tapping his chin when he snapped his fingers. "We've got to be touching."

"Huh? You making a pass at me, Sir Ryland?"

"No, no. When Ezreal and I transferred his aura energy —"

"He tried to kiss me," Ezreal said flatly. Skylan choked back laughter. _Friends. _

"Did not. Well. Not really." Ryland shook his head. "Regardless —"

"Alright then." Skylan swept skinny Ryland into his arms with a grin. "Hello, beautiful."

"U - uh - hmm - this isn't —" His face flooded with red.

"Come on." Ezreal scowled. He was cold and weary. Skylan was a good cook, but Ezreal had no appetite. Not without Lux.

"Go, Sir Ryland." Skylan buried his nose in his hair. "You smell magnificently, by the bye."

_Magnificently? _"Th - thanks." Ryland shook his head and tore another rip. Skylan's eyes winked silver. Everywhere their skin met, it burned. But briefly. It was followed by a soothing calm that reminded Skylan of an autumn breeze, brushing away the sticky sweat of summer. Ryland actually went limp, gasping. To his damaged, overworked nervous system, it felt like heaven.

It was an oval portal. It sang — or seemed to sing — like a chorus of windchimes. The edges of it glistened wrought-iron silver. And through it, Ezreal glimpsed the high, misty mountaintops of Ionia. His and Ryland's world, he thought. He'd almost plunged through it when Skylan snatched him back.

"Now wait a moment, Explorer."

"But I gotta —"

"Save Lux. Yes, I know. Just as I know you and Ryland are friends. But relax. I've got an idea." Skylan glanced at Ryland, who was shivering and moaning softly into the Guardian's chest. "Sir Ryland, if you could stop your orgasm now, that'd be wonderful."

He flinched. "It felt good."

"Fantastic, because we get to do it again. I was thinking of Ionia when we did it," he explained to Ezreal. "And trying to draw on Ryland's thoughts of Ionia. He's only ever seen your travelogues — did you know that?"

Ezreal looked away. The thought of Ryland in his abusive house, crouched over one of his picture books of Ionia — it was depressing. "No."

Ryland nodded. "I've never been out of Demacia. Well, Demacia and the League."

"But you seemed so well-traveled."

Ryland smiled, and Ezreal felt a small swell of warmth. He wanted to make Ryland feel the worship again. "Owe it to your books."

"Aye. I'll get to read them soon, I think." Skylan closed his eyes, and the portal vanished. "Again, if you please.

Ryland tore another hole, ignoring the glassy pain in his temples. He didn't know if he could do it again.

Luckily he didn't have to. Another wink of silver, another sublime crest of pleasure, and there they were — the forests surrounding Angel's Crossing. The view was from the bottom of a mountain, looking up. They could see the gate. The chimes sang merrily, a glissando, a waterfall.

Ezreal's heart soared. The world through the portal looked cold and forbidding, the gray-green pine needles daunting. Still, he was ready to go. Luxanna Crownguard was one step nearer to being in his arms.

Though he was mildly disturbed to find Ryland purring into Skylan's neck, kneading his chest with his one working hand. Skylan saw Ezreal's questing glance and cleared his throat.

"Sir Ryland."

"Hmmm? Oh." Ryland blinked tiredly. "Sorry, Ez. I — thought I felt a Fugue coming on. I think I'm due for one."

Ezreal winced. "Let's go, then. Before this portal leads to — something else."

"Do you two want me to go first?" Skylan paused. "Not sure how I'd signal if it were unsafe, though. Assuming it's a one way trip."

"We should go through together." Ezreal swallowed hard. _We don't know if it's safe. We've got no way to know._ He was starting to sweat and didn't want Skylan to know he was afraid. The Guardian's huge hand squeezed his shoulder anyway.

_Fear's a normal thing, Ezreal of Piltover. _

_I don't like it. _Ezreal grimaced.

_Means you're human, though. Means you have a weak spot. Men who can't fear can't love. _

_Really? _

_Aye. Is it really love if you aren't afraid of losing it? _

Ezreal was still contemplating this when Skylan grabbed his wrist and dragged him through. The Guardian had thoughtfully realized they had a better chance of making it if Ezreal was distracted.

He was right. Ta - aikah.

* * *

Darius was prepared to give the order to dismount — the forests had grown almost too thick and tangled to ride horses through — when the gates of Angel's Crossing came into view. They seemed almost organic themselves, tangled in vines and rust. A piece of white paper fluttered from the top of them.

"Looks awfully cheerful, doesn't it?" Degardo asked merrily. There was a chorus of sarcastic agreement. The silent city behind the gates was in obvious ruin.

Darius snatched the paper and squinted at it. There were at least four types of handwriting.

The first hand was strong and solid. _North keeps to north. We will tolerate no more interference. — Aitah Tryndamere, Avarosan _

_If anyone reads this, we've headed back to the League. Fuck this shit. We have no idea where Ezreal, Ryland, Jayce, Quinn or Malcolm are. Soraka, Kat and Jarvan are expected to be dead. Whatever you do, DO NOT GO IN THE GATES. — Vi of Piltover_

_Ta - kitan is upon us. Make your peace. — Sejuani, Winter's Claw _

_Malcolm you godsdamned scalawag. If you're out there you better stay alive. You owe me money. — TF_

Darius finished reading the notes aloud and gazed at the gray-stone buildings ahead. He could see that the main street was littered with corpses, the windows of the buildings dark and cracked.

"Ta - kitan." Demetrius frowned. "The end of days, hm? I don't blame them for thinking so."

"How much Freljordian myth do you know, Demetrius?" Darius glanced over his shoulder.

"Enough, I should think. Much of the Willow-Doves' indigenous religion is a combination of Ioni-Freljordian mythology."

"Demacian, please," Degardo muttered. Demetrius ignored him.

"Well," Darius began, and stopped. Katarina was standing silently behind them, wide-eyed and messy-haired. Her mouth fell open. Next he knew, she darted into his arms and clung to him, sobbing.

"If it isn't Ms. Du Couteau. Can't keep a good woman down, can you?" General Raeford grinned. The Doves were clustered around her, welcoming her back by stroking her hair. When Kat was through clinging to Darius, she hugged each of them, feeling homesick. It was a miracle — the heart of Noxus standing among the gray-green pines.

At that moment, circling the city on the outside and looking for survivors, Jayce, Graves and Erinae heard the joyous commotion and paused.

Malcolm frowned. "Sounds almost like Darius, don't it?"

Jayce listened harder, then nodded carefully. "Sounds like a bunch of Dariuses." He noticed Erinae's nose was twitching wildly. She looked more like a rabbit than a cat. "Erin, something —"

"Shit," she hissed. "Fucking shit dick. Hide me."

"Wh —"

She turned into a tiny ball of orange fluff that barely qualified as a kitten and glared up at him. _Put me in your pocket, stupid! _Her thought-voice was loud and clear again.

Before Jayce had a moment to reflect on what that meant, he scooped her into his hands and stuffed her in the inside pocket of his coat, then stumbled after Malcolm, who was striding through the undergrowth. "Hey! It might not be —" He staggered into the clearing and stopped.

_Oh. Holy shit. _His knees went weak.

Noxian Generals. Piltover had never really been involved in the war, though they were vaguely anti-Noxian because of Noxus' alliance with Zaun.

But Jayce recognized them — the rich, powerful and unpredictable dark-haired Generals of Noxus. You had to be strong, influential, charismatic to rule a country like that. And their bright green eyes — civilized in the day time and monstrous at night — were all trained on him and Malcolm. Considering them.

General Degardo spoke first with a huge grin. "Is that truly Malcolm Graves, or am I Demetrius now and seeing things?"

Graves hesitated. And Jayce could feel his mind. _Erinae's regular. The Good Man. _

_Malcolm. You gotta be polite at least. _Jayce swallowed hard. He had made much better peace with Erinae's past. _I don't want to be lunch. _

Malcolm forced a smile. "Godsdamned Degardo. Thought the dogs ate you years ago." The two men exchanged a hug, and the tension broke again. Darius strode towards Jayce, a question eloquent in his eyes.

"Jayce. I'm glad to see you're safe."

"But you're wondering where Ryland and Ezreal are?" Jayce shivered slightly. Now that they weren't at the League, Darius had no reason to let him live. Over the General's shoulder, Degardo was introducing Malcolm to the rest of the men.

"Of course."

"They, uh —" _Blew up? Turned into fireworks? Uhhh…Help me out, Erin. _

_How the fuck am I supposed to know what to say? I'm just a godsdamned cat, dummy._

"Is _that _your son, Darius?" Charles White squinted at the opposite end of the clearing Malcolm and Jayce had come from.

Darius looked. "Not unless he's…changed a bit."

Jayce looked too, and felt a stab of recognition. _Holy — that's Lightboy II! _"What the fuck is going on?"

The titan didn't seem to know, either. He prowled towards Darius with movements so graceful they looked almost like dance steps. "Hi da — Oh. Forgot. You're not my father in this world. It's different." He blushed.

Darius exchanged glances with the rest of the Generals and frantically motioned for them to keep to themselves. "Who — who are you, exactly?"

"You're so tiny in this world." Skylan ignored him and laughed, delighted. This Darius only came up to his collarbone, Jayce to below it. And Skylan's shoulders were far broader than both of theirs. "My gods. No wonder Sir Ryland looks like a little bundle of sticks."

"Thanks." Darius smiled sheepishly. "I guess it is pretty funny, isn't it?" _Or would be, if I knew what the hell you were talking about. _He looked to Jayce, who shrugged. "Do you know where Ezreal and Ryland are, by any chance?"

"Coming along behind me. They stopped because Sir Ryland collapsed. Dehydration. Poor boy."

"So they're alive." Jayce felt his heart beat faster and faster. "And they're — here?"

"Jayce?" Ezreal's voice. The Generals stopped speaking for a moment, then grew even louder. _My gods, Ezreal the Pilt? Out here? What's happening? And who's that giant — where's he from? Must be Pilt too. Vitamin food or something. _

Ezreal Arcane Shifted twice, landing between Darius, Skylan and Jayce. He stared up at the Defender with big blue eyes. "You're — alive. Is everyone alive?"

"Everyone but Quinn, I think. And Jarvan and —" _Soraka. But you killed her, so. _

"Thank gods." Ezreal's shoulders sagged with relief. He leaned against Skylan, obviously familiar with him. "Why are there Noxians here?"

"We came to rescue Kat," Darius said. His excitement was growing. "I brought the Generals on an extraction mission, and —"

The clearing fell entirely silent. Charles White, the oldest General, covered his heart with his right hand. The others immediately followed suit, the Doves huddling against one another. Not even the horses dared to breathe.

Ryland — pale, rough-haired, wild-eyed — stood before them, blinking. His clothes were torn by thorns, his face chapped by constant winter wind. But he was recognizable from the storybooks, the illustrated poetry, the paintings.

Darius' face broke into a grin he couldn't conceal.

Then Degardo, weary of the tension, ran and flung himself atop Ryland's cracked, faded boots. "Your majesty! Welcome back to the realm of your mortal men, where all are awaiting your lordship's bidding." His voice was only half-joking.

"That won't be necessary. Though I may demand a footrub from you. It won't be much trouble since you seem to be so fond of them."

Degardo laughed, startled. Followed by the rest of the Generals. Kat flung herself at Ryland and dragged him into the circle of waiting black-haired men.

Malcolm wrestled his way out, looking relieved, and stood beside Jayce. Then sighed. "Ain't one of us s'posed to say somethin' about a Wheel turnin'?"

"Yeah." Jayce shook his head. Whenever he started to think it was all bullshit — there was no fate, only days heaped upon dark days — shit like this happened. Like Ryland, Ezreal and Statueboy turning up at the same time as him and Malcolm and a bunch of Noxian Generals. Who just happened to think Ryland was the king. When they had to go save Lux. "Yeah. Somethin' about it."

_Tar - aikranaro, _Erinae thought. Jayce snorted.

_Not quite, but close enough. _

Ryland felt like his stomach was dropping down an endless pit. Falling far farther than should've been possible. He was shaky from lack of food and water, trembling from magical exhaustion. Getting through the portal had been a little more complicated than expected — the other side sealed itself when they were almost through. He and Skylan had to rebreak it.

And now — he was standing among men he'd feared most his life, the dark demons leering at him from every page of his Brightbridge textbooks. And they were smiling broadly among the pines. One wrong move and he was —

_You're going to be alright, Sir Ryland. I can handle all of them. _Skylan sounded strong and sure.

_R - really? _

_Aye. One move to hurt you and they're dead. _

_No wonder Aven wanted a Guardian, _Ryland thought distantly. He noticed Ezreal suddenly standing beside him, huddling close.

_I'll protect you too._

_Alright. _"Well. This is a bit unexpected, to say the least."

"You're telling us." Degardo laughed. "We've got a godsdamned statue come to life here and a king from four-hundred years ago."

"Four hundred years exactly." Charles White's smile turned rueful. "Suppose we're about to start seeing omens everywhere we look."

"Likely. That's how the Wheel's formed, isn't it?" That was one of the blonde boys. Ryland pressed but didn't get a name — the Dove actually had his mind concealed. Fairly tightly. _Interesting. _

"I'll apologize in advance." Ryland took a deep breath and prayed that honesty was still the best policy. "I've never even been to Noxus."

"Not in this lifetime, no." A blonde-woman with breasts nothing short of voluptuous — Cressida.

Ryland froze. _I feel like I've met her. Oh. Oh man. I really, really do. _The déjà vu threatened to darken his vision. She was smiling broadly. Broad enough to dimple her cheeks. It was familiar.

"Have we —"

"Met? Oh, aye." She cocked her head. "I was your queen last time you were alive."

"Gods. I thought I was old for being sixty." Charles White looked away and _tsked_. Other than that, they all accepted her proclamation at face value. She was a queen, she was over four-hundred years old.

A cold current zipped through Ryland's knees. They trembled.

"I — I see." Ryland almost choked when he tried to swallow his spit, bitter with adrenaline. Then he noticed Demetrius Falin frowning at him and almost choked again. It had to be him — he was unmistakably the man from Caelyn's memories.

"Michael Whitefield?" Demetrius made the name itself sound like a question of great importance.

"In another lifetime." Ryland was surprised by how firm and sure he sounded. Especially considering he couldn't look Demetrius in the face.

Demetrius nodded. "He was raised by Senator Darrigan Whitefield."

"The powerful Demacian one?" someone asked.

"Aye. Received the Torch from Brightbridge — was it four years ago?"

_How does he know all this stuff? _Ryland and Ezreal thought simultaneously. Ryland barely managed to nod. "Aye."

"Ha. Smarter than all those future Eagles. Not surprised." Degardo spat.

"And I imagine a king brought up in a prestigious Demacian academy will serve us well," Charles White rumbled. "He knows how they work."

"He's empathic anyway." Cressida fanned herself.

Ryland felt his eye twitch. _I thought Brightbridge would be a deal breaker. _"How — How do you know all this? If you don't mind me asking."

Demetrius' smile was incredibly comforting. Or would've been, if Ryland could look at him. "I know you from my intelligence gathering in Demacia. You were a person of interest because of your looks. Cressida knew you personally, presumably. As for the rest — your name is all over Noxian history, the lore, the art."

"Almost as much as Caelyn's," General Isaacs commented. General Rowan nodded in agreement. "In fact, he was often confused for you. Not in looks. But in power."

Ryland thought of the shaky, submissive pyromancer. _Oh. Great. _Then he thought of Caelyn on his knees before Demetrius and flushed so hard he thought he'd faint.

He cleared his throat, listened to his voice's melodious ring beneath the dark branches and gray sky. "I believe your arrival along with us is no accident. There's war looming."

Widened eyes — no concealing emotions here.

"Will you be leading us, King Ryland?" General Isaacs looked more excited than surprised.

"I — Yes." _What? What the fuck did I just say? _"It is a full scale war against the denizens of light. Their arrogance has blinded them beyond hope of salvation. The only answer is their destruction."

He looked at each of them, only shaking when he shifted to Demetrius. Kat's mouth was hanging open. Darius looked both startled and pleased.

Ezreal was smiling.

All of them were listening, entirely captivated, enthralled.

"It's a war that's roamed across many worlds, some of them real, most of them not. But all of them have had great consequences. They have captured Luxanna Crownguard —"

A murmur of shock.

" — Sit'ra's lover. Such an affront will not be tolerated." They had no idea where Aven was at this point.

"They kidnapped the God of Destruction's girlfriend?" Degardo sputtered. "My stars."

"That's arrogance if I've ever heard it," Charles White thundered. "Agreed?" The wave of assent brought crisp relief to Ryland's skin.

He felt Skylan mentally nudge him. _Caelyn. The Caelyn kid. _

_Godsdamnit. _Ryland sighed internally, then nodded. "I also intend to bring Caelyn Falin back from the dead."

Shock. As Empaths, both Ryland and Skylan winced. It was a piercing, crackling, electric blue sensation. A murmur arose. Especially among the Doves — an airy, chime-like language that didn't sound real. They were grabbing eagerly at one another.

Demetrius immediately turned to Darius, face unreadable. It was closest to anger. "Have you had any contact with your son?"

"None at all." Darius laughed, then laughed harder. _This is so bizarre. I can't believe it's true. _"Oh, gods. Ryland. I promised Demetrius the same thing before we left."

"Really?" _Shit. Kings probably shouldn't look surprised. _

"It doesn't matter in Noxus." Cressida smiled sweetly. "The more human you are, the better off you'll be. I promise."

"Thank y — you can read my mind." Ryland pressed a shaky hand to his temples. _This is too much. Too much at once. _

"We all can, to a small point." Charles White shrugged. "We can at least feel you. Felt you prowling around earlier, your majesty. Don't blame you."

"Oh." Ryland shuddered. He was feeling fainter by the moment.

Darius raised his right fist. They quieted. "I suggest we make a camp, then hear of Sit'ra and Ryland's travels before coming to conclusions. Well, your majesty?"

_Holy shit. Dad just asked me if it was a good idea. _"Sounds magnific —"

Then he was falling, overwhelmed, and the world went blissfully black, the black of a good night's sleep after a wearying day. Ryland was strong emotionally, aye, but there are times when that isn't enough.

* * *

Demetrius was third by his side, following Ezreal and Skylan. He looked back at the others. "Go make the camp. I've got the healer's kit." The rest of the Generals and Doves headed off, clearly excited.

_Reflections, _Ezreal and Skylan thought, then looked at one another. Then at Demetrius. Long limbed, a little too skinny, friendly faced, black haired, green eyed. And with a healer's kit.

_How many are there? _Skylan thought.

_Ryland said four pairs. So eight. I think you four are already here. _Ezreal glanced up through his blonde bangs at Jayce, who was massaging something inside his coat and nodding alongside Graves.

Demetrius looked up at Skylan. "Think you can help me move him, good sir?"

Skylan blanked. He hadn't recognized him until now. "Um. Hmmm." He turned bright red. _Oh boy. Should've quit watching Caelyn's memories when Sir Ryland told me to. _

"Ah, well. You did mention something about a different world, if I'm not mistaken. Never mind then." He hefted Ryland into his arms — like all Generals, he was stronger than he looked — and carried him a little ways off into the forest. Ezreal followed him, unsure of what to do. All this Noxus stuff was starting to creep him out.

Ryland came to moments later and almost fainted again. "Oh man. I really hope this isn't about to be a Fugue." _Or if it is, that it's a really hot one. _

Demetrius looked at him mildly. "You have those as well. Interesting."

"This is real?"

"As far as I know."

"Oh." _Oh man. Oh fuck. _He squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face against his shirt. He could feel his heartbeat, how warm he was.

He was immensely relieved when Demetrius gently placed him on soft grass. Then he stood over Ryland, frowning. Ryland glanced up and hid his face again, beneath his arm.

"Have we met before, your majesty?"

"Why do you ask? A different lifetime?"

"I hope I haven't been reincarnated. This lifetime's quite enough for me. More than enough." Demetrius dug the limited healer's kit from the pockets of his dark jeans.

Ryland recognized the brand name. Expensive. _Oh man. And those are his bad jeans. _

"It was actually your and your brother's reactions to me that were of interest."

_Brother? Oh. _"He's not my — uh — " Ryland was distracted by the color of Demetrius' eyes. _It's almost as wonderful as Aven's. Aven's are life green, and his are — like the pines. _

The Tactician's eyebrows rose. "Are you alright?"

"E - excuse me for one moment." He scrambled to his feet and dragged Skylan a few feet away.

"How much of the sex did you watch?" Ryland asked in Ionian. He'd picked it up at one point or another, probably from his deep link to Skylan.

"All of it." Skylan chuckled, embarrassed. "I can't look him in the eye."

"I'm blaming you for this."

"Oh. Oh, right. Sure. Like I didn't have to endure your twisted fantasies —"

"They were _not_ fantasies." Ryland shook his finger in Skylan's face. "They were daydreams."

Demetrius glanced at Ezreal, who looked totally lost. Mournful, even. "Are you King Ryland's Dove, boy?"

"Hell no." He scowled at the ground, almost pouting. It was more adorable than threatening. "I'm the God of Destruction."

_Really? Odd. Because you look like you belong in a tie and waistcoat. Ryan White looks more like a god than you. _He paused. _I wonder if I should tell them. _He cocked his head, listening, heard something about 'rope' and 'masochism' and cleared his throat.

"_N'tonyo en fronya d'Ionia._" I speak perfect Ionian.

He honestly thought they were going to die in front of him. There'd go Caelyn's second chance.

"I'd honestly appreciate an explanation, your majesty —" _Now they're staring holes into me instead of blushing and giggling like schoolgirls. My lord. _"But given your royal status, you're not obligated to give me one."

"I met, uh, Caelyn in the underworld. Or something. One of them." Ryland smiled brilliantly.

"He met Caelyn is what he's trying to say," Skylan coughed.

Demetrius felt his heart slow. The opposite of what it should've done. But Caelyn brought him nothing but calm, soothing tranquil even when he was on the verge of burning alive. When they both were.

"He's in hell?" _Demetrius, who are you fooling? Of course he's in hell. _

"Yes," Ryland said at the exact moment Ezreal grunted, "No."

Demetrius' eyes narrowed.

"Uh. Well." Ryland tugged nervously at the glove on his destroyed hand.

"He's in the same place as Lux." Ezreal's voice was almost a growl. "That's not hell. She didn't go to hell."

"Metaphorically speaking, si — I mean, General Falin."

"Did you just call him 'sir'? Don't call anyone below you 'sir,'" Skylan hissed.

"I know that!" Ryland hissed back.

Demetrius closed his eyes. Most of him was flattered by their nervousness, the rest of him embarrassed for Ryland. And all of him was longing for Caelyn. _Remain calm. _

"It's hell for him. Because you're not there." Ryland looked like he was going to add something, but snapped his mouth shut.

Demetrius eyed him and watched him blush. "I sincerely hope you aren't lying, your majesty."

"He isn't." Ezreal shook his head. "I met him too. He thought he was stronger than me. I sure showed him."

_Oh, Caelyn. Of course you would go toe-to-toe with the God of Destruction. _Demetrius shook his head. "And?"

"He hugged me." Ryland was almost breathless. "Thought I was a General. I received his memories."

"How did he seem?" _He's hurting. _

"Weak. Shaky." Ezreal scoffed. "But I figure you're used to that."

Demetrius didn't react. _Gracious. The king and his entourage certainly have — character. _

"D - don't mind him." King Ryland's smile was nothing short of luminous. "He can be a jerk sometimes."

"He thought I was a servant boy." Ezreal scowled at the Tactician. But Demetrius smiled. After the Fallen Swordsman, nothing scared him.

"I did, actually. Still do. Considering the way you clung to King Ryland's arm. It seemed quite — subservient." Demetrius looked at the sky. From the corner of his vision, he saw Ezreal's fists clench. "Though I see he's forgone the leash. Not sure how wise that is." Before Ezreal could snap a retort — something about child molestation — he flicked his gaze back to Ryland and Skylan and watched them melt. "So you received his memories and did what anyone with a set of someone else's memories would do."

"Heh." Skylan scratched his jaw. "Yeah. It's kinda like meeting a porn star." Ryland smacked him, but the look on his face was one of agreement.

Demetrius heaved a sigh from the bottom of his feet. "I honestly shudder to think of how those memories were embellished."

"Even if they were," Ryland began, and stopped.

"Wait. You have a crush on this guy?" Ezreal's voice deepened. "Both of you?"

"No! Of course not." "Yeah, Ezreal. What the fuck?" But they were still blushing.

Ezreal squinted at Demetrius. "I think they do." He paused. "Wouldn't know why."

_Fantastic. I've made a great first impression. As always. _The Tactician rubbed his forehead. "You know, Caelyn once almost tore a woman's throat out for thinking I was cute."

"Why do I have this bad feeling he and I aren't going to get along well?" Ryland asked softly.

_Because you're envious, _Demetrius thought, bemused._ But this wouldn't be Noxus otherwise. _

Ryland looked towards the camp. "We, uh, should go."

"Hold a moment. A few things." Demetrius crossed his arms. _If he managed not to be angry, Caelyn would've died of laughter by now. _"The Doves are a little grabby. Don't be alarmed. It's custom. Especially with higher ranked people. Considering that you're the king…"

"Ah. Alright."

"Don't try denying that you're king. They won't listen." Ryland nodded. "The Generals are touchy, too. Only be alarmed if they're physically distant. I know that you've heard a lot of their skill at dissembling —" He saw Skylan frown. Probably not a word where he was from. "Hiding their thoughts and feelings. It's a popular rumor in Demacia. What you've heard is mostly bullshit. You'll be able to read them all after a few days."

"I — I see." Ryland struggled not to step back when the Tactician approached him.

He extended his hand. After a moment, Ryland took it and shook it. "Not that I truly require any introduction, but — I'm Demetrius Falin, fourth-in-command if you still will it, and Noxus' secondary tactician."

"Promote him to king," Skylan said out of the corner of his mouth.

"I wish," Ryland said back, then squeaked when Demetrius put an arm around his shoulders. Ezreal's frown deepened. He was tired of other people touching Ryland.

"For instance. This is considered entirely normal in Noxus."

"Oh." Ryland was almost hyperventilating.

Demetrius' expression softened. "Please don't faint again."

"I'm trying not to." King Ryland closed his eyes.

"Good. I don't want them to think I'm trying to kill you." Demetrius paused. "Is that purring from you?"

Skylan groaned softly. _Really smooth, Ryland. _

_Shut up! _Ryland choked. "It slips out when I'm - ah - anxious. I'm really sor —"

"It's alright." _My gods, he's worse than the Willow-Doves when they first meet me. At least they eventually stop blushing. _He looked to Skylan, who coughed heavily into his closed fist. "I don't believe I got your name."

"Skylan Whitefield."

"Skylan, the Freljordian wind god? The Guardian?"

"Yes si — ah." More coughing.

Ryland rolled his eyes. _Nice one._

_Alright, King Ryland. You gonna let go of his hand? _

_Wh — _Ryland realized he was squeezing Demetrius' fingers in his own and dropped them hastily.

"You know, you don't really seem like a bottom to me," Demetrius said cheerfully.

"Who doesn't? Ryland?" Ezreal barked laughter.

_Wow. Thanks, Ez. _Ryland glared at him. Ezreal glared back.

"No, no. I've already heard the king's a masochist."

"From who?" Ryland shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, you're uncomfortable with that, but you and Skylan have seen all of my most private moments." Demetrius chuckled. "Quite the double standard, no?"

"I'm sorry." Ryland's face burned.

"But Skylan —"

"My husband's not into that kinda thing." Skylan looked away.

"Ah. Well." They were nearing the camp. Demetrius removed his arm. "May your reign be longer than Caelyn's life."

_What does that mean? _Ezreal, Ryland and Skylan thought, then looked at one another.

_Maybe we'll find out, _Skylan thought, and watched Demetrius rejoin the Generals.

_Yeah, if you two quit freaking out. Godsdamnit. _Ezreal thought for a moment. _Oh. Ryland, you know how you get really upset about being compared to that Caelyn kid? _

_Yeah. _Ryland was watching the warm smiles thrown his way. So different from back home — no. From Demacia.

_ That's how I feel about Aven. Exactly how I feel. A little stronger, but — yeah._

_ Oh. _Ryland considered this. _Reflections. Reflect and reflect again. _

_ Ta - aikah. _Skylan huffed. _All damn day. _

* * *

True to Demetrius' word, the Doves descended on Ryland almost immediately. He'd taken a seat on a fallen log beside Skylan and was chugging the broth someone had prepared, thinking of how Kat was being weird and distant. Then he looked up and found himself surrounded by blonde Demacians.

"Hi." The oldest, most masculine one leaned towards him.

"Uhh. Hi." Ryland swallowed hard when the Dove rested contentedly against his shoulder.

"Glad the king's handsome," one of them whispered. An entire group of them were pressing nearer and nearer. He felt them lean against his knees, on his sides. One of the smaller ones was reclining in his lap.

Strangely enough, his anxiety dissipated almost immediately. He felt — calm. Like everything was going to be alright.

He looked to the other Generals. They were all smiling, obviously awaiting his telling of the tale.

Welcoming. He felt his eyes fill with tears. _How can they welcome me more than everyone in Demacia? How? _Ezreal, sitting nearby, reached over the Doves and squeezed his hand.

_It'll be alright. _That was one of the Doves. Telepathic. _It really will be, King Ryland._

_Aye. _A different one. _It really will be. We've all been waiting for you. And Sit'ra. _

_Waiting. _Another one. _And for Caelyn to come back…you two will be wonderful together. _The smallest one in his lap looked up with a lovely smile. Ryland answered it without thinking.

Was everyone telepathic in Noxus? Was this really where he belonged?

It was. Ta - aikah.


	7. The Second Comings

_N.B. _

_**Lemon from pagebreaks 5 — 6 (I think. Can't count).  
**_

_This chapter's dedicated to the person reading it right now. Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. You, hearing this disembodied voice saying these words in your head. _

_ If you're reading this, you mean more to me than all 34K views (as of 5 - 6/2014) on _The Right Dress. _Even though I love that damn thing. _

_ Erm. Regardless. We've got 2 more chapters. One after this. A two-parter, then an epilogue. I count the two-parter as one and don't count the epilogue. (And maybe a trivia chapter, but I won't count that either). Oh, and the Author's Note, which is probably gonna be long. _

_ So —_

Preparations

Ta - Kitan (Pt 1)

Ta - Kitan (The End)

Epilogue

Author's Note

Trivia (Maybe)

_ And then — well. Retirement. It's scary to contemplate. I'd love to keep on writing fanfic until the end of my days. Another _Home at Last_? I'd love to. _

_ Knowing vOceanic, I'll probably come out of retirement and sort of spook around. "Woooo. Look, a one-shot annnnnnnnd it's 500 pages long. Fuck." _

_ Seriously, though. You reading this. I'm gonna ask for something. A review, a PM. Something to let me know something about the person reading this. We've connected in a way not possible for most people. (I'm at least mildly attractive so don't feel too bad about it ;) )_

_ I'll stop rambling. _

_- vO_

* * *

"The falcon can hear the falconer if the falconer shouts _really, really loud_."

- Aven Lightbringer (Age 14)

"Whoa. Caelyn Falin's so freakin' hot."

— Erinae Riveria (Age 9)

"Some say the world will end in fire. (Pause). Actually, they all do. (Smile). Or they should."

— Caelyn Falin (Age 15)

"Come my friends, t'is not too late to seek a newer world. It never will be. There's always worlds out there. Wheels, maybe. Watching. Waiting. Turning."

— Ezreal Lightbringer of Piltover (Age 18) [The Present]

* * *

_Save him._

Ezreal — Tai - Aitah, Sit'ra — looked at his friend and felt a faint chill sadness. Not for Ryland himself. His smile was the brightest Ezreal had ever seen. The gruff Guardian had really brought Ryland to life, through inside jokes, laughter, comfort. Comfort maybe the soulless could only give one another.

The Willow-Doves seemed to make him happy, too. The light was fading from the sky, leaving traces of shadow lingering among the needles of the pines. Though Angel's Crossing was bleak, gray and desolate, the woods were alive with the low, atonal call of owls and wind murmuring through the black branches.

But the Doves surrounding Ryland were comfort from the cold and the dark. Their handsome smiles (_handsomer than mine_, Ezreal thought) were pleasing to the eye, their bodies warm and pleasant to the touch.

No. What Ez felt was a simple mourning. He and Ryland would forever be friends, to the last page and beyond, but the simple days on the Rift, grabbing dinner at Central Fountain, talking about how they didn't understand their girlfriends — those were over.

The Destroyer knew they had been for a while. Maybe as long ago as Ryland confessing his love on the plains, and surely after his broken wrist.

Now, with a country apparently awaiting him, they were done for sure. Ez watched him laugh at one of the Doves' whispered jokes and turned away.

Ryland was handsome, not broken. All it had taken was happiness to banish the dark from his face. Happiness Ezreal the Destroyer couldn't give.

Ezreal pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and settled nearer to the fire, thinking of Luxanna. Trying to.

* * *

Jayce was watching Degardo so closely that he didn't notice Demetrius watching them.

Erinae had decided to stop hiding. _Gotta face the music someday, I guess. Or some shit. _So far none of the Generals had recognized her, which Jayce knew was a mixed blessing.

To make up for her discomfort, she was chattering at him eagerly, trying to distract him from Degardo's boisterous conversation, tugging at his hand. They were all sitting on downed logs around a roaring fire. Her cheeks were pink from heat and excitement.

When he saw General Falin observing them intently with a look of faint pain on his face, the Defender cleared his throat. "Looking for something?"

"Ah. Oh." A handsome smile flawed by sadness. "Just thinking of an old friend."

Demetrius was remembering his date with the lovely Madame Ashbury, the two of them sitting in lawn chairs on his back porch one warm evening, following a sumptuous dinner at _En T'vrdian_.

Eight-year-old Caelyn suddenly sprang on Demetrius and seized his hand in his mouth. As a human. And nibbled on it, growling. Madame Ashbury — the lead model of the internationally acclaimed _Calrutti _eveningwear and lingerie line — had been appalled, but Demetrius couldn't stop laughing. Especially not after Caelyn squeaked and darted off without a word.

_I'm so s - s - sorry sir, I'm not sure what happened, your movements reminded me of a rabbit and I — _He'd collapsed on Demetrius' feet, shivering, about two hours later, when Demetrius had finally gotten Madame Ashbury to leave. The entire house was spotless, Caelyn was so scared.

_She suggested I get rid of you and I said no. Rather — firmly. I suppose she won't be back._

_But she's a model! _

_Aye, and you're a Caelyn. _He'd scooped him into his arms and flicked his nose. The boy sneezed and turned into a fox, his tiny paws paddling at the air. Demetrius rubbed his stomach. _There's only one of you. _

Erinae looked up. Her eyes got so wide Jayce thought she'd gone into shock.

"Oh _shit_. You're that guy."

Demetrius smiled. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific, my dear."

"The Good Man. Caelyn projected you."

The man frowned, and Jayce felt a slimy worm of panic coil in his stomach. Night was falling — the Generals' eyes were slightly too green, too shiny. Their teeth seemed sharper and longer, their movements more graceful.

The Defender squeezed her shoulder. "Erin —" _Please don't fuck with him._

But she ignored him. It was too late anyway.

"Whatever do you mean, madam?"

"I met him in the sky. Yeh. Chased him. Had him pinned real good." Her golden eyes gleamed.

Jayce realized that the night was bringing changes to Erin, too. _Am I the only real human here? Me and Graves? _

"Had him pinned," Demetrius echoed. He cocked his head.

"Yeh! I was bitin' him. He tastes good, doesn't he?"

Demetrius lifted one eyebrow and said nothing. By this point, Ryland and Ezreal were listening to their conversation as well. The King cleared his throat loudly. Erin ignored him, too.

"I recognized him from the calendar and was trying to fuck him."

"Fair enough." Demetrius chuckled, but Jayce thought he heard anger in it.

"Then _you _tapped me on the shoulder and said, like, 'Madam, please unhand him. The boy is my property.'"

"That _is _the excuse he always used when the sexual harassment got a little heated," Degardo pointed out. Demetrius glared at him. "Or so I've heard! Heard, of course."

"Yeh, well." Erin took a drink of her soup, half relieved, half annoyed that Degardo apparently hadn't recognized her. "Then we stood up and he hid on your chest and then you faded to a hand on his right shoulder because he was shivering so hard. Couldn't keep you there. Then we got a talkin' to by the celestial lady in her white palace. You know. With the birdcage."

Demetrius gritted his teeth. _Calm. Must remain calm. _"You know, King Ryland. You've got quite an interesting entourage."

The king blushed again.

"We've, ah —" Jayce cleared his throat. "We've been wandering around up north alone for quite a while now, and, uh —"

"It really happened." Erinae nodded. "Met him a little while ago. I promise you."

"Along with King Ryland and Ezreal?" Demetrius' voice was laden heavily with sarcasm. A large part of him — an aching, childish part, the same one that wandered Falin Manor for a year after his boy's death howling with rage and tears — was snarling _If he can contact these people, why not me? Why Ryland and this girl? _

"Nah." Erin shrugged. "The night after that."

"And you've just reconnected with Ryland today," Demetrius finished, and rubbed his temples.

"This is the first I've heard of the contact, aye." Ryland looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"This is absurd." The Tactician didn't realize he'd spoken aloud. Erinae scowled at him.

"Hey big guy. I can prove it."

"Prove you met Caelyn in the sky?" Demetrius laughed, feeling vast and empty. _Fairy tales. All fairy tales. I should've known. There is no hope. Not with him gone. No blue roses. No more nonsense._

"Yup." Erinae spat.

"I can kinda prove it," Ezreal added, his sapphire eyes dark and unreadable. Demetrius had begun to think of him as _the Child God _even though he knew he shouldn't. "Though it pissed me off."

"Well. I'd love to hear it. I think." _I hope. _The Tactician realized both of his fists were clenched tightly and forced himself to straighten them. It was difficult. He was shaking. _How can they be so casual about meeting him? He's dead. If I met him — but no. _

He was shaking harder. Ryland and his damned entourage were all staring at him, as were the Doves. The latter looked openly worried. "Go on. I'm listening."

"He showed us a memory of him and Luxanna. He was trying to convince her to come with him." Ezreal's deep, dark frown showed how little he cared for this idea. "She was being nice to him and he thought she actually liked him."

"That's interesting." Charles White shook his spoon in Ezreal's direction. "Not many outside of the top nine knew of his connection to Luxanna — isn't that right?"

"Aye. I never told." Andrew White snorted. "Because it was pure nonsense. Being in love with the Demacian princess and Noxus' prime tactician."

"And I'd never met him before, and Lux never mentioned it." Ezreal's scowl deepened. It seemed, Demetrius reflected, to be his natural expression. "Something about — a collar. She was in one and suggested he ask you about it."

The Tactician flushed. Charles White shook his head. The Doves and Generals laughed, then whispered. That was Noxus for you — laughter, then murmuring.

_Of course. I'm starting to see a pattern here myself. The Erinae girl was trying to fuck him, Ryland and Skylan have observed us, and now — godsdamned Luxanna Crownguard and that collar. No one else knew that, save Charles. I was furious. _

A memory: _"But it feels nice." Loud purring. _

"_I don't care. Take it off."_

"_But sir —" _

"_Caelyn —" _

"_Don't wanna." Purr. "It feels really nice when you pull on it."_

"_Wh — what did you do to the buckle? Why can't I undo it?" _

_Purr purr purr purr…_

"_Caelyn Falin, don't you dare turn into a — Foxes aren't even supposed to purr!"_

_Purr purr…_

"_Godsdamnit. I need you out of it because we've got company coming ov —"_

"_Demetrius! What in hell?"_

"_Charles. Help me get it off of —"_

"_I will most certainly NOT help you get him off!" _

"_That's not what I said, you old deaf white-haired bastard!"_

"_These white hairs are from you and your godsdamned foxboy!" _

_Purrrrrr…_

"The actual memory," Ryland interjected with a cough. "That was about you dragging him away by the ear and him thinking you really loved him because you were angry."

"I see," Demetrius said softly. "And you, madam?"

"Mine's a lot more simple." Erin scrubbed her mouth with her sleeve. "You see your horse, right?"

"Yes?"

"Uh-huh. I knocked him offa her while we were in space, and she just kept on running. Guess that's how you got her."

Demetrius stared at her. "So you're implying that — Meridian found her way back to Falin Manor."

"Yep." Erin beamed.

"From space."

"Yep."

"That's preposterous."

"Not really. If your house ever catches on fire you have to lock the horses out of the stables or else they'll go back there. No matter what. Even if they're burning." Erinae nodded sagely.

Malcolm and Jayce exchanged a glance and a shrug. Made about as much sense as anything else.

"From space!" Demetrius snapped.

"Well, she was just standing in the stables when we went to leave," Charles White rumbled. "Was she not? After vanishing after Caelyn died?"

"This is ridiculous!"

"For Caelyn?" General Isaacs cackled. "Sounds perfectly reasonable to me."

"It sounds like a bunch of — idiotic — stupid, half-cocked —" Demetrius couldn't breathe.

"Now wait a moment. We're still talking about the same Caelyn, correct?" General Raeford nodded. "The one who turned into a fox whenever anyone was angry at him? He'd sit there and wag his tail. Do you know how hard it is to shout at a fox?"

"I've got one better." Degardo gestured grandly. "I went to find him — he was playing catch, they said. And you know what?"

"What?" Erinae chirped.

"He was the ball. Watched a Commander hurl him into the sky, fox tail just a'flyin'." There was laughter after this — Demetrius saw that even Ezreal, Sit'ra was laughing. The Tactician himself was in pain.

"Or Demetrius. How about when we asked him about the blue roses surrounding your house. You remember that, Rowan?" Isaacs clapped his husband on the shoulder, who nodded. "'Caelyn, blue roses aren't real.' 'Aye, but they're master's favorite flower.' And that was it. His entire explanation on why they were there, how he grew them. That was all he'd say. And you say this — meeting him in dreams — is absurd? Do you truly?"

Demetrius opened his mouth. A sob, instead of words. A soft hush fell over the camp, then quiet murmured conversations began.

And owls — so many owls calling to and fro through the air. They had someone to call to. Demetrius did not.

"Why's the guy crying?" Erin demanded, tugging Jayce's sleeve. "We're getting him back."

"Maybe that's why." Jayce squeezed her arm tight, just relieved that no one had been eaten. Yet. "Or maybe it's because he has to hop on the crazy train with us."

Demetrius coughed laughter. "Is this a joke? Is this all a joke?"

"No, sir." Ryland didn't correct himself. "I would never allow them to joke of something like this."

"And you'll bring him back." Demetrius was almost inaudible.

"He deserves a second chance," Ryland heard himself say, though he didn't know why Caelyn had killed himself or if he truly did deserve another try.

It was enough to see a little of the light come back to Demetrius' eyes. He didn't see Katarina's look of pain. Or Darius'.

And so King Ryland told the Noxians of their hard journey. He and Ezreal alternated the telling —the tale is recounted elsewhere — focusing on Luxanna's capture. Words spilled out over the fiery tips of the bonfire, into the delicate ears of the Doves. Sometimes Graves joined in with a few grunted words. At other points Jayce spoke.

And so those hundreds of pages spiraled to something really quite simple.

Death's Kingdom, the Southern World, housed Caelyn Falin, the Fallen Swordsman.

It housed Luxanna Crownguard, the golden-haired Demacian Eagle who was now something more like an angel, a princess holding Ezreal's heart between her silken palms.

And it housed Aven Lightbringer, the green-eyed God of Creation. Though they knew that not, not at that moment.

And after being denied what they wanted — to be truly loved, in Ezreal's case, and to be treated gently, in Ryland's — they sought to rectify it all and bring the pieces back together.

Demetrius, chin in hand, thought of the irony that Caelyn would be brought back on the brink of a massive war. The threat of a monstrous war had killed him to begin with.

_And what if he dies again? _The Tactician mused into the dark. Would it be enough to hear his laugh once again? To feel his soft cheek against his palm?

Ezreal Lightbringer's heart tightened with every word he spoke. Tighter and tighter. His lungs were constricted into small, taut sacks. His ribs burned. _Luxanna will have to love me if I save the Wheel. I know it. _

As for Ryland — meeting Aven. Aven wouldn't have to love him. _It'll be enough to hear his laugh. To feel his palm against my cheek. _

And that kiss he had asked for long ago. _What harm can one kiss do, moon son? _

Ryland didn't know. But he knew how much the lack of a kiss hurt.

Reflections. Again and again.

After the tale was done, they traveled through the portal to Noxus.

* * *

Feelings hadn't softened between Luxanna and Aven. The Lightbringer, often faced with a cranky quarters-mate, knew how to make himself small. And whenever he was feeling particularly sad, he simply looked at the dark desperation flickering in the back of Oliver's pale blue eyes and felt better again.

Dar Regale, Son of Dust and rapist of kings, had begun one-hundred-twenty-four letters of apology and torn them apart before Aven snorted derisively.

"Y'really think a letter from a dumb thing like you's enough t'fix it?"

"N - no." Oliver had taken to grinding his teeth. But what hurt worse than the exposed nerve endings in his mouth was being genuinely sorry. The choking remorse was even more overwhelming than the howling void awaiting his soul.

_Whitefield. _

All those hours being read to, watching the news beneath a blanket, all those rain-sodden dates — a waste. All Whitefield's compassion useless.

_I'm sorry. I'll fix it. _Oliver looked up from the torn scraps of his latest apology attempt. Aven was mumbling to himself as he squinted at a book. _Somehow. _

Then — and perhaps unsurprisingly — Oliver and Caelyn heard the news at the same time. One on the ground, one beneath it.

Caelyn Falin — after the dreams of Erin the Riv and of King Ryland — had taken to moving again. His muscles were frayed like an old, abandoned rug, his heart sluggish and fluttery at turns. Sometimes, feeling his way through the dark, he collapsed in a panting heap.

Still, he eventually made his way to the tunnels beneath the Hallowed Keep, home of the golden spire. (_Like a weaker version of the Prodigal Explorer, perhaps?_)

He heard Saint Garamond's hated, hushed voice and fought the urge to cough. His lungs were sore, permanently fogged on the inside from the damp air underground. Oliver, who was swapping duty with a guard, paused.

"…Nothing quite like it. There's a portal about half a mile out, and what's through it looks like the kingdom of Noxus. I'd swear to it. It's almost like a living painting. It changes colors as the day passes."

"Were there any people?" Oliver blurted, then cleared his throat. "We are worried about King Ryland, after all."

"None that I could see. I didn't stay to look through it for long." A pause. "Come to think of it — there were birds flying around. I heard some faint voices." The Battle Saint's voice was growing weaker from fear.

Caelyn choked, coughed, fell heavily to his knees and scarred hands. A single word in his mind. _Master. _

If he cried now, he'd never make it. He listened to Garamond describe the exact coordinates and set off without a second thought. Groping the walls. Knees shaking.

He didn't know — how could he? — that the Aurora Liliana was cheering for him. Soraka was praying. Death had forgotten him again.

And he didn't know that the shiny, opalescent rope of glistening light leading him in the right direction wasn't a hallucination, but real.

As for Oliver dar Regale, he told the other guard to wait a moment, darted up many flights of stairs, crawled up the remaining ones, and was deeply disappointed to find Aven and Luxanna asleep. Differences didn't matter during a nap — they were entwined.

Oliver kissed the princess on the lips, hesitated, kissed Aven on the forehead, stumbled back down the stairs, and high-tailed it out of the Haven, an apology boiling in the back of his throat.

* * *

At this point, Ryland, Ezreal, Generals and entourage had been in Noxus for three days.

Ezreal was slowly withdrawing. He didn't protest on the third evening when Ryland pulled him against him and started petting him. Like a Dove.

The two of them were in Ryland's private suite on the fourth floor of a palace that, until three days ago, had been kept as a museum.

Ezreal closed his eyes and leaned against Ryland's chest. The hand on his shoulder had always felt good. It really did now.

And no one was going to question their manliness. The Doves — for which he was repeatedly mistaken, resulting in constant hair-ruffling — were actually pretty cool, despite the whole 'servant boy' thing.

They were all straight (except his reflection Caelyn, of course). Three of them were dating Noxian models. One of them was a mechanic. A couple of them were really into techmaturgy. All of them had read his books.

"You okay?" Ryland's genuine concern made Ezreal feel better. He still cared.

"Yeah." He sighed and watched the sun drift downward. Ryland had stood on the balcony for hours the past two nights, watching night sweep over his country, like closing a curtain. Drinking in the beauty he'd been starved for. His return was still a secret to most of Noxus as of yet. "Though I'm kinda starting to wonder how Lux will take this. Two of those guys — those Doves — are her cousins."

Ryland nodded. He knew. He'd laughed loudly when the Generals White talked of killing Demacia's tactician, then snapped his mouth shut with a vague sense of guilt. But the rest of the Generals were laughing, too.

_Bit odd to have a prince do your laundry. _Charles White chuckled. _And when he's mad he looks just like an Eagle. To think — a pet Eagle standing in your dining room. Almost as strange as Caelyn. _

_Not even near, _Degardo corrected. _But strange indeed. _

For the most part, they were genuinely amused by the idea of recapturing Luxanna. They'd all sworn to show her utmost respect — vows that deepened when Ryland and Skylan tore a portal to the Southern World and left it open in the castle courtyard, humming, chiming, singing.

It was the second true display of magic, following the first portal from the north to Noxus. The Generals were quite impressed.

So were the Doves. The latter sat in a circle around it, squinting at it for a good four hours and murmuring to one another.

Doves were strange.

In the present, Ryland squeezed Ezreal's shoulder. _Lux soon. _

_But will she love me? _The Destroyer's blue eyes were dark and distant. He was truly wondering if she would love him enough to fill in the aching gap Ryland's new friends had left in his heart, if her white light would fill the dark hole. It was as small as a pinprick, but deep as the ocean.

The pain was a part of saving Ryland. Had to be.

_She'd better love you, _Ryland thought to himself. Not because he was the King — oh, no. Because of Ezreal. Because of the ocean-eyed Destroyer with the chiseled jaw, with the faint, rosy triangle scars on his cheeks.

_Of course she will, Ezreal. _

The Destroyer hugged the King of Noxus before Ryan White the Willow-Dove dragged him to his room for an action movie.

Ryland looked at the horizon thoughtfully. Tomorrow morning he and Skylan were going to try and contact Aven. At least find him.

_I hope he's alright. _

Skylan had pointed out that the Wheel only turned if Aven was alive. Not if he was well. Rapid-fire thoughts of mutilation sparked between them before Ryland shook his head. _It does no good to worry. _

Skylan's faint smile. _He'd say the same thing. _

At the moment, something caught Ryland's attention — voices from the hallway. Ryland still wasn't used to the palace, which was decorated with all manner of paintings of nature, beauty and a few of — himself. From centuries ago. Him and Cressida. The hundreds of windows were stained glass. Patterns of flowers, constellations, trees. _Aven will love it. _

The voices he heard: Katarina's low, urgent one, followed by Cressida's bell-toned laugh. He'd been avoiding both of them, hiding with the Generals.

Degardo had teased him about it. _Wouldn't want to see a woman who's been kept waiting for four centuries either, my lord. Don't blame you. _

He couldn't hide forever, not any more than he could hide from his Noxian heritage. He forced himself to open the door and paused.

" — cheating!"

"Foolish mortal." Cressida cackled.

_That's the first time I've ever heard that out loud, _Ryland thought.

"He was mine before you were a thought, before you were the tiniest crack in the Wheel. I know him."

"No you don't!" Kat snapped.

"Oh? What's his favorite color?" Silence. Kat was doubtlessly seething. "It's green, child. Forest green and silver."

Ryland winced. She was right.

"Oh. Yeah. Knowing his favorite colors means you automatically get to keep him."

"His favorite poem, perhaps? _Enfa T'argen_." Her voice rang with triumph. "It's an Ionian ode to a broken vase glued back together again. Glued with sunlight. He sympathizes with it."

Ryland's heart stopped, then thundered. He'd never mentioned that to anyone. The poem was from the preface to one of Ezreal's books. He'd photocopied it, kept it in his pocket for a solid two years.

Never mentioned it to anyone in this lifetime, anyway.

"He's not the same Ryland. He can't be." Voices, echoing in the dark. They were headed his way. He braced himself internally. "Reincarnation is bullshit. It's just bullshit. It's a coincidence. He's not the same." She was losing it.

"You wouldn't know, would you, darling? He and I used to perform in the _L'Rae Divin_. He played piano and I sang every Sunday afternoon. The Noxians loved it."

Ryland gritted his teeth. They rounded the corner, simple evening gowns swishing against the floor. Kat was in red, Cressida in black. _For Noxus. _

Two pairs of eyes — one colored like Ezreal's ocean ones, but brighter. Blue-green. And Kat's frigid emerald ones.

He cleared his throat. "Good evening."

"Good evening, your majesty." Cressida smiled demurely. And gods, it was familiar.

"Ryland," Kat said hoarsely. "Tell this bitch —"

"Kat. Please."

"What, so she really is gonna take you?" Kat looked like she was going to stomp her foot.

Cressida was examining him calmly. Though he thought he saw — with the moonlight pouring in through the stained glass windows — tears forming in her eyes.

Ryland tried to think. He could feel heartbreak roiling off Cressida, a big black wave of it. Fury from Kat, like crimson lightning bolts. "This is Noxus, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Katarina gritted her teeth. "Glad you finally realized that."

"Why can't I have both of you?"

The both froze, then looked at one another.

Ryland nodded and continued. Like so many other things, it was as if he were listening to something speaking through him. Someone who knew what he was doing. "King Ryland was renowned for loving many people. You can't expect me to choose between two lovely women like yourselves."

"Oh?" Cressida's damningly familiar smile was coming back. "And why not?"

"It's trying to choose between the seasons." Ryland took a step forward. A brief memory of Brightbridge — Gloriana rejecting him — swirled past.

"The lovely, blossoming days of springtide." He brushed Cressida's silky blonde hair away from her bare shoulders. Her smile bloomed in full.

"The full, sultry heat of the summer." His hand snaked to Katarina's right breast and pinched the nipple. She almost smacked him.

He eyed them both. He smiled. "There is no choosing. Not between the past and the present."

He thought they were going to break his bones.

They both grabbed an arm and dragged him towards his huge, black-pine framed bed. Kat was kissing his mouth hungrily, her lips burning, scalding hot, her tongue deep in his mouth. And Cressida's lips worked tenderly against his neck. Their hands slid against one another, then past each other over his body.

Kat's fingernails clawed against his shirt, Cressida's gentler ones working towards his jeans, undoing his belt. He realized he was moaning softly.

_Wait. Kings are supposed to be on top. _

"I think not, your majesty," Cressida whispered in his ear. Her blue-green eyes twinkled in the moonlight. Her silvery-blonde hair brushed his collarbone. She squeezed his erection, then rubbed her fingers daintily across the head of it. He went from hard to swollen.

"I get his dick first," Kat said flatly. "I haven't fucked him in forever."

Cressida rolled her eyes and began slipping out of her gown. "I suppose I'll withhold a comment about forever at this point."

"Hey. In mortal terms. You've waited this long." Kat dragged at his jeans, then her own dress. "You can wait more."

The pair of them in expensive lingerie — they'd run into one another on the way to seduce him. Reflections. Again and again.

It truly would've been like choosing between the spring and summer. Cressida's round, luscious curves reminded Ryland of the peaches fattening after the white blossoms fell. Her breasts were massive, cupped by a smoke-green bra that seemed to kiss them, not restrain them.

Kat's body was lithe, lean. Her ass was tauter, her waist thinner. She undid her scarlet hair from its binding and let it pour across her shoulders, her boobs. A simple black bra, striking against her pale skin.

Cressida cupped Ryland's chin and kissed him fully, deeply. He felt Katarina slip his boxers down to his knees. She straddled him, and her rough gasp startled him into plunging his dick all the way in. Soon she was moaning, sliding her hot warmth up and down his thick length. Her fingers encircled the base of his shaft and squeezed hard so he wouldn't come.

Cressida smiled against his mouth. Her gentle kisses were like little raindrops, soft on his lips and chin. "Must you be so noisy, Kat?"

"S - shut up. It feels good." Ryland felt a shiver travel up her stomach. She grabbed her ankles and rode him, taking her satisfaction from his body. It was pure selfishness but left Ryland panting and squirming all the same.

"She doesn't know anything about the art of love," Cressida breathed into his ear. Ryland's face flushed. Her full pink lips encompassed his — suckled on them — her breasts swaying into his cheeks.

Kat came then, her red hair a magnificent, silky shadow in the moonlight-drenched room. She clutched at his dick and held it to the tip of her clit, then rubbed the two together. The friction — it was powerful enough to make Ryland's back arch, to press his skinny chest into Cressida's fat tits.

When Kat was done, she glared. Strands of red hung in her face. "What'd you say?"

"You've got no form, child." Cressida grinned. Ryland realized — far away, lost among silky sheets and sweat trickling down his temples — that her canine teeth were a little too long.

Kat shoved her out of the way. "Fine then. Go ahead." She kissed him. Once. Twice. Her tongue flicked his lips apart.

But Ryland's attention was focused on Cressida's hands edging down his body. _What is she —_

His moan startled both him and Kat. Then he was gone, lost in pleasure. Consumed by it. His mind was emptied — he writhed beneath the pair of them, gasping for air. Their bodies were so hot, firm and soft, he couldn't bear it.

Cressida's hand was milking him. Squeezing, pulling, caressing. A rhythm he couldn't resist. Kat joined in — her torrid kisses echoed it. He was so lost that couldn't kiss her back, but that didn't matter. She was using his mouth as she'd used his cock earlier — sucking his tongue, taking control. And Cressida's soft lips had joined her delicate fingers. She gave his dick butterfly kisses. The touch made him shudder.

He cried out, moaning into Kat's hot mouth. The orgasm flooded him — his body seized. His hands found Katarina's breasts and squeezed them, his dick pressed to the back of Cressida's willing throat.

Then he relaxed. His ears were ringing. The corners of his vision were gray.

When he came to his senses, Katarina was tucked beneath one arm, Cressida the other.

"You've got promise," Cressida was murmuring to Kat. The assassin was looking at her with a mixture of anger and — something else. Lust? "I'm sure you can learn."

"I've never made him sound like that."

"But you can." Cressida put an arm over Ryland's chest and brushed Katarina's cheek. "We can practice on him together. Any objections, your majesty?" She tickled Ryland's chin, then kissed it.

_I missed you, Ryland, _he heard her think. _For so long. _

"No." Ryland swallowed hard and listened. "No objections."

Outside, in the thick, twisted alder trees dotting the courtyard, owls were calling back and forth again. The two pairs of gorgeous eyes fixed on his face — one aquamarine pair laughing, one emerald pair still frosty with frustration — both belonged to predators.

He was the king, but still their prey.

"None at all."

* * *

_Strangers in a strange land. _

The thought looped through Jayce's head continuously, like a sliver of Piltover memory tape.

He thought it when he watched a General hold a serious conversation about economics with a Dove, then ruffle his golden hair afterwards. And when he heard King Ryland laughing with the Generals about the Demacians' military inadequacies. And when he saw Ezreal among the servants, smiling.

Degardo and Malcolm had taken to poker again. Their favorite spot was a stone table in the shade of an old angel sculpture. It looked suspiciously like that blonde woman flittering around. Cressida. The Outlaw was so rusty he couldn't win. Degardo still humored him. Jayce and Erinae spent much time settled beside them.

There was another thought dominating Jayce, too. Of that Caelyn kid and Demetrius.

_I've got to get through to him. I think — I'm pretty sure he's my reflection._

It was like one of those electronic fortune tellers that you asked a question and got a random answer from. _Beep. Beep. All signs point to yes. _

Maybe Jayce was still related to Ryland and Skylan — they all liked the same ice cream flavor, after all. Demacian vanilla.

But those two were powerful sorcerers and they had Ezreal and Aven. The 'god bros,' as Erinae liked to call them.

Demetrius Falin — he wasn't a sorcerer. He was wealthy, mostly self-educated with an eye for the finer things in life. He had a scientific mind, cutting-edge accuracy that produced results. Misunderstood by those around him. Rumor had it that women found him 'distant,' difficult to know.

Oh. And he was in love with a child. An almost-grown one now, but still.

But Jayce couldn't find him anywhere. Degardo finally explained it, before flipping four aces and grinning at Malcolm's swear. "The threat of war. He's retreated and began preparations. We often don't see him for months on end because of his research and writing."

_And reclusive. Gods. He really is me. _"He's got to vanish to somewhere." _Or at least I hope so. And I hope it isn't into space with that weird horse. _

"The library," Degardo murmured, squinting at his cards. Erinae was dealing them and shooting the General frustrated looks. She believed he still hadn't recognized her.

Jayce jumped up to question a little Willow-Dove strolling by, miraculously not in the company of a General or fellow servant. He'd only gotten five alone so far.

_He loved him forever, but fell hard when he was twelve. Wasn't intimate with him until he was fifteen._

_Isn't that the age Erinae told me originally? She said she was fifteen? _

The Dove shifted uneasily. _I — I wouldn't know, sir. _

_Sorry. Talking to myself. _

There was that, too. The library.

Earlier that evening, before King Ryland was thoroughly and utterly bedded and fucked by Cressida and Katarina, Jayce and Erinae slipped through a light gray rain into the library and sat at a table in the shadows.

The library was massive, exquisite, with a skylight in the shape of a lotus and intricate wooden dragons topping the bookshelves. King Ryland loved to read, after all. Past and present.

The Tactician was sitting with his back to them. He'd pushed three of the tables together — they were covered with charts, lists, diagrams and sketches. Thick books standing upright seemed to wall him in. Titles like _The Demacian Afterlife: A Study in Lore _and _The Call of the Angels: Back from the Dead_.

Erin, Jayce noticed, had buried her nose in _The Basics of Techmaturgy. _He himself had grabbed the latest _Songs of Noxus _and was looking at a picture of Caelyn and Demetrius. Falin Manor. Dress-black military uniform, hand in small, scarred hand. Blue roses.

Smiles.

"I see," Demetrius murmured to open, empty air. He looked to his side, obviously holding the gaze of someone not present. "And your hands hurt too much to take the notes? Fair enough, child. It is raining, after all."

Jayce held his breath. Demetrius was holding a full-scale conversation with no one.

"I don't think they'd leave their bases unfortified, even if they didn't feel threatened. They love their walls. The real question is, with an eternity to develop —" Demetrius stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Are they all there, love? Every Demacian?" A pause for a response. "Ah. You wouldn't know. You put most of them down there, anyway."

Jayce listened to the entire thing. Demetrius' tactical brilliance was evident, his attention to detail almost inhuman.

Then Erinae clamped his wrist. The Defender bit his tongue and felt it bleed.

Demetrius: "Everyone else's met with you. That's the part I don't understand. Even the star-borne hell-mare makes more sense than you — avoiding me. Or perhaps not." Demetrius glanced to his right, then quickly away. "I did let you kill yourself. Oh, whether you drugged me or no. I should've known. Never mind Jericho's assassination attempts on your friends. Nothing should've distracted me."

Jayce squeezed Erinae's hand.

"And you know," Demetrius mused, turning the pages of a thick book. "That night I had one of the best dreams of my life. You and I were out from under it all. Out from under the Wheel. Just the Ionian beach and the clear sky. Even within the dream I couldn't wait to tell you when I awoke." A pause. "You were gone."

Erinae's fingernails were digging into Jayce's flesh.

"Of course you wouldn't hear me through the earth when I did tell you later. You know they still think you're buried in the Generals' Cove? That I'd let the government take that from me, too?" Pause. "Aye. The last blue roses, by the lake house. Still growing strong. It's a bit odd to think where their roots are entwined…but enough of that. Why aren't you joining us for dinner again?"

A long pause. So long Jayce almost forgot to breathe.

Then he spoke again. His voice was soft and sad among the empty-eyed statues and closed books. "Ah. You're dead. You're dead and I'm, well, alone. That's right. I always seem to for —"

Demetrius looked over his shoulder at last. And Jayce was gone before he could react, dragging Erinae behind him. They got as far as the courtyard before she fell on his chest, sobbing. No, bawling. It looked like she was crying glass marbles.

"Erin." He shook her by the shoulders. From the corner of his eye, he saw Degardo and Graves glance up from their poker game. Degardo was grinning. "It's okay."

He thought he heard through hiccups and moans, _No it's not. _

"Yes it — come here." _Shit. Shit. The comforting thing. I can do this. Boyfriend Jayce. _He squeezed her and she yelped. "Fuck. Sorry. You gonna be okay?"

"Y - yeh." She sniffled, then frowned. Her sobs had evaporated. "Is that what they mean by PMS?"

"Uhhhhh. What?"

"Yeh. Got my period. Happened yesterday. I feel like shit. Ryland helped me out, though."

"Ryland?"

"Oh. S'cuse me." Sniffle. "His high majestical holy man."

_Gods save the king, _Jayce thought randomly. He almost broke down along with her. "Wh - what? Does he have sisters?"

"He's got the healer training, 'member? Soraka taught him about it in case he needed to help people. Like me."

"Ms. Erinae!" One of the servant boys came running over before Jayce could respond. He shot Jayce a distrusting glance, then pulled on Erin's hand. "I brought you mint dark chocolate ice cream. Linnaeus has a warm bath drawn, too."

Erin looked at Jayce. She tried to do a Noxian accent and failed. "My people are calling, Sir Jayce."

"Um."

"She'll be back later, sir." That note of suspicion in the Dove's voice made Jayce squirm. _What the fuck did I do? _

"O - okay. Have fun." He watched as Erin was led away, then leaned against the palace, hid his face, and groaned. When he opened his eyes, Degardo was standing before him with a huge, wolfish grin.

"Hail, Jayce of Piltover."

"Hi." _Oh no. Erinae's regular customer. _

Jayce wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed for a while — a year, maybe. But this was the first time he'd been addressed by name by one of the Noxians. He had to answer.

"You know, I'd like to ask you a few questions. Just as you've asked the Doves." Degardo leaned on the wall next to him — just close enough to make Jayce uncomfortable — and looked to the sky. "Scared them to death, you have."

Jayce opened his mouth and closed it. The light drizzled over the puffy clouds — though the rain had ceased — was a burnt umber, an orange that looked so thick you could almost taste it. It added an eerie glow to the disconcerting green glitter of Degardo's eyes.

"I didn't mean to scare them. I'm, uh, not from here."

"It's alright. But think about it from their perspective — Demetrius was fond of doing this." Degardo cleared his throat and imitated the Tactician's broad, dark voice. "Imagine if a large black-haired man turned up and began questioning you about your dead best friend. He looks a little like the police, doesn't he?"

_Noxus has police? Coulda fooled me. _

"No, we don't. But the Willow-Doves've got quite the imagination." Degardo yawned and stretched.

"You — everyone can read minds." _Strangers in a strange land, foreigners in a country — refugees? _

"Mhm. I find it rather curious that you think of the Generals as child molesters."

Jayce almost choked. "I — I do?"

"Indeed. I would mention something about pots and kettles, but — I'll get to that." Degardo looked at him and smiled lazily. "The only man who slept with a Dove was Demetrius. Conversely, the only Dove who's been with a General is Caelyn."

Jayce felt the words pour out of him before he could stop them. Maybe it was the Generals' black magic. Or just how he felt.

"You guys all pet them and — hug them. And rub their shoulders while you're talking. It's — weird. It's just weird."

"But is it molestation?" Degardo nibbled his thumbnail. "Are those gestures taboo in your country?"

_I'm going to get eaten. Rest in pieces. _

"You also think we eat people. Again, only Caelyn Falin."

Jayce's chest heaved. "Oh, gods. What?"

"Focus, good sir." Degardo snapped his fingers before Jayce's face. "Being affectionate. Is it against your cultural code?"

"N - no? I'm not from Demacia."

"I've always thought Demacians touch each other more than Pilts. Could be wrong though." Degardo shrugged. "Jayce of Piltover — and I'm sorry this question is more complicated than it has to be — would you fuck your dog?"

Jayce flinched. "I don't understand."

"It's not really about the animal. It's about the pet. So, say, would you fuck a pet cat —" Degardo's smiled widened at Jayce's wince. "Or a lizard, or perhaps a parrot?"

"Degardo, what the hell are you doing?" Another General. Jayce felt his skin grow damp. It was so humid that none of his sweat was evaporating. "Are you interrogating him?"

"I'm trying to explain the concept of a Willow-Dove to him, Raeford. Not doing it too well."

The newcomer was taller, more handsome. He cocked his head. "Ah. Degardo, he's a Pilt. Don't explain it. Just tell him." He nodded. "The Doves are pets."

"They're human," Jayce snapped immediately. _That's it! That's the part that was bothering me. Not the child part... _"They're full and complete human beings. They have thoughts, dreams, desires —" His words crunched to a halt at Raeford's smile. He was trying to hide it. It wasn't working.

Night was falling. Jayce caught a glimpse of the white moon through a cloud. A little way away, the portal to another world was glowing, humming. The lanterns bobbing from the edges of Ryland's palace — shaped like Willow-Doves — emitted a soft haze of angelic light.

"Demetrius was a humanist once," Degardo said. He sighed nostalgically. "Caelyn won that argument, hands down."

"Th - they're people!" Jayce felt his heart begin to ache.

"People we happen to own." Raeford shrugged, dug through his jacket pockets and produced a cigarette. "Care for one?"

"No." Jayce shook his head rapidly. "That's not okay."

"Told you your cigarettes were cheap, Raeford," Degardo coughed.

"No! The Doves!" Jayce watched as eight or nine of them walking by — was that Ezreal with them? — looked over, then away, murmuring quietly.

"Relax. Please." Raeford looked genuinely sympathetic. "I understand how you feel —"

"Don't you have one?"

"Aye. Sterling Raeford, the Wheel-Singer. Jayce of Piltover, would you rather we not take them?"

"Wh —"

"They're orphans. All of them to a one." They were ambling towards the portal — it gave off its own secretive glow. It hovered a little before the palace's tasteful stone steps. There was a statue of a wolf crouched on either side of the palace entrance.

"Two of them are Crownguards." Jayce felt his knees shake.

"Whites, now," Raeford corrected.

"Pfft. They were orphans after Charles and Andrew showed up on their doorstep." Degardo snorted.

"B —"

"Listen. Just for a moment." Jayce realized that Raeford sounded reasonable and clenched his fists. _This shouldn't even be a discussion. _"They were orphans in Demacia, which is widely renowned for having one of the worst orphanage systems in all of Valoran. Unwanted children are not supposed to happen, as there's to be no intercourse outside of marriage —"

Degardo chuckled.

" — And if their parents die in battle, there are supposed to be relatives to take them in. Family, country, honor. That's all Demacia's built on. But children slip through the cracks."

Jayce let out a long, slow sigh. "Alright."

"So. They've got no schooling. No food or medical care. Half the time they've not even got a proper mattress to sleep on." Raeford stopped and sighed. "Which is where we come in."

"Uh - huh." Jayce closed his eyes. _Oh man. _

"They're expensive. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's true. We're dedicated to them. They end up educated, healthy, talented and, above all, happy."

"Talented? That shouldn't have anything to do —"

"You'd be surprised what boys can do when they're grateful and have had proper care for the first time in their lives." Raeford shrugged. "Their chorale program is exceptional. Most of them play instruments. They're learned philosophers and historians and naturalists. Accomplished cooks. But that's not all."

"No?"

"No. Especially not in Caelyn's case." Raeford cracked his knuckles. "They were torturing him."

"Wh —"

"Aye. Thought he didn't have a soul. He was dropped off twice. Father dropped him off in an inner city one. Mother came and got him — he thought he was going home. Dropped him off in the worst one she could find, in hopes that he'd die without her having to sully her conscience." Raeford met Jayce's eyes. "And you'd say his life with Demetrius, even with the questionable parts, isn't a better alternative? Or — well — wasn't."

Jayce couldn't speak.

"Sterling spoke of some of the same things. They others would steal his meals because he was small. Asher Rowan was relentlessly hounded for being left-handed — sign of being secretly Noxian, you see."

_Oh. Please don't tell me I'm agreeing with him. _Jayce groaned. "It's still —"

Raeford smiled. "They're offered their freedom when they're fifteen, again when they're eighteen."

"There's the science, too." Degardo hacked and spat. "Chemical addiction."

Jayce's jaw clenched without conscious interference. Just when I thought it couldn't get worse.

"Mhm. Piltover study — your country, right? Perhaps you've heard?" Raeford spoke with the calm assurance that every scientist knew every science.

"I'm, uh. I'm not a biologist."

"Fair enough. Caelyn lasted, what, twelve hours without his Sir?"

"Mhm, and he was a wreck. The others fared better. Ryan White lasted the whole two week separation — good old Crownguard blood — then fainted on Charles and was comatose for two days."

"Chemical addiction." Jayce couldn't summon up indignation. This country was too much to handle. He was glad he wasn't king.

"Aye. We apparently emit some sort of strange pheromone. The addiction is formed in times of great stress, easier to form in children. Especially those with blonde hair and blue eyes, though it works best on boys with Caelyn's condition. Whatever that is. It was unintentional but — well —" Raeford shrugged. "It works out for the better. Now, if you'll excuse me."

_Don't leave me with him. _Jayce swallowed hard as Raeford met up with two other Generals and wandered off, talking quietly. He turned back to Degardo. "You were saying?"

"Pots. Kettles. Molestation." Degardo flicked a lighter on and off again.

"It's — you recognized her, didn't you." Jayce felt like he was going to tear his hair out. He was grateful when he saw Malcolm headed their way, face stony even in all the soft light.

Then he realized it was like the dream map. How bad did things have to be for him to be grateful to see a man who'd once threatened to blow his head off?

"Of course I recognized her. We've all recognized her. She's Erin the godsdamned Riv. Notorious in this country. Hell, more so. She's in one of three of our calendars." Degardo's gaze switched to Jayce's. "I was merely wondering how you'd come to acquire her."

"She's not — I don't own her. I really don't. She's with me of her own free will."

"Ah." Degardo laughed sardonically. "Oh, I'm sure a twelve-year-old child has plenty of options and freedom."

"More than she does in a whorehouse," Jayce snapped.

"Interesting and debatable." Degardo's smile was small, almost invisible. "You know — I was going to buy her."

Jayce's heart thudded. "What?"

"I was going to buy her. Get her as a Dove, even though the other Generals would've laughed me clear out of town to have a girl. I thought she'd look rather charming among them all, in a dress instead of a waistcoat and tie…she reminded me quite a lot of Caelyn, too, and not just because they were both sluts."

Jayce didn't know which was worse. What he was saying, or the genuine note of sadness in his voice, sadness among the thick alder trees and gray stone. Just as real as Demetrius'.

Graves stopped a few feet away with a grimace. Jayce noticed that that huge guy — Skylan, right? — was standing beside him. He suddenly felt safer, but no less uncomfortable.

"And?"

"She vanished the visit before I could. Finally saved up enough. That's why I don't have a Dove, by the bye. I don't come from money like the rest of them." Degardo shrugged and flicked the lighter closed. "And that's why you shouldn't surprise children. They surprise you first."

Jayce swallowed hard.

"Her life would've been far different than — whatever it's been. I wasn't planning to fuck her. I'm not sure she noticed, but the last six months we spent together, we simply spoke to one another. About any number of things, actually. It would've been pure gold if I worked for a gossip magazine, but I just wanted to see — what she thought of it all. Of Noxus." Degardo smirked. "Demetrius hates my entire being, but I understood him. There's something about them — they understand."

"Understand what?"

"Life." Degardo half-smiled. "People. Love. Good eventide to you, Sir Jayce."

He vanished and left Jayce shaking.

A pause.

"Well, now that that horseshit's over." Graves strode forward, shaking his head.

"Slavery's never acceptable. Ever," Skylan added with calm, steady assurance. Jayce was thankful to hear it.

"That don't even matter right now." Graves slapped the newspaper into Jayce's palm. "You think your night ain't so hot? Wait'll you read that."

"Wh - what?" _Where's Erin? _

"You probably should read it." Skylan's voice was a bit more sympathetic.

"Can't you just tell me what it is?" Jayce clutched at his temples. _Strangers in a strange land. In a stranger land. _

"Heh." Graves' smile was as bitter as lime. And it wasn't sparkling happiness in his eyes. It was depthless rage. "Nope."

Jayce took a deep breath and squinted at the paper.

_The Valoran Times_

Headline: _The Broken North_

How wrong can one operation go? The Valoran Times investigates.

_Following a powerplay directed by Zandred Claren, the League of Legends lies in shambles…_

Jayce read and read, pain building in his stomach. The entire article was three pages long.

…_In addition to the rampant destruction of a historically significant Angel's Crossing temple, Ryland Whitefield has been indicted for the murders of Prince Jarvan IV, Commander Quinn d'Taglion, and Captain Luxanna Crownguard. (Following her death, her title was posthumously reinstated)._

_ Sadly, these charges are little surprise considering Ryland Whitefield's past actions. He narrowly escaped execution for the deaths of thirty-two members of Comet Division, among them Oliver dar Regale and Roger Tairn. Furthermore, the details surrounding the death of his mother last year, Merilyn Whitefield, are fairly nebulous. Demacia has formally excommunicated him and promises to kill him on sight._

"Holy shit," Jayce whispered. "Oh. Oh gods."

"Keep on readin', buddy. An' don't say I didn't warn you, either." Graves' voice was so hard and harsh it hurt his ears.

It was hard to read it. Especially after the Ezreal part.

_Ezreal Lightbringer is no longer permitted to claim Piltover as his birthplace, officials say. His last name has been legally reverted to that of his father, Ian. In addition to the charges previously listed against Ryland Whitefield, Ezreal Lightbringer is wanted for the deaths of thirty-five Angel's Crossing residents, among them the High Avarosan Shaman Ravin Grace. He and Ryland are suspects, too, in Soraka of Ionia's death. _

_ His contributions to science are no longer recognized as his work and have been absorbed into the body of common knowledge. The Techmaturgist Laureate seat is currently empty. Neither Ezreal nor his successor Jayce are permitted to occupy it. _

"Holy fucking _shit._" Jayce's hand shook so hard he couldn't read it.

Graves snatched it away. "Fine. You want me t'read it to you? Even though you're the Egghead?"

Jayce couldn't talk.

"Actually. Lightboy II. Do the honors?"

"Sure." Skylan nodded and began to read in a calm, educated tone. "'It seems that no one escaped the wildness of the North morally unscathed. Caitlyn, Sheriff of Piltover —'"

"No," Jayce whispered. The Wheel was turning. Turning, lurching forward. Their wild northern adventure had ended — _time to face the music. Or some shit._

"'— is formally pressing charges against Jayce Varden. (Like Ezreal, he is no longer allowed to claim Piltover as his birthplace). Though once thought to be a moral stalwart, Caitlyn and her assistant, Vi, have both reason and evidence to convict Jayce Varden of —'"

"No. Nope."

"'— Pedophilia in the first degree. He has been caught abusing a child multiple times, and has even gone as far as intercourse with said child. As with Ryland and Ezreal, his home country has disowned him and threatened legal action. If, that is, any of them are ever seen again.'" Skylan bowed his head and sighed.

"Graves." Jayce's voice seemed to ring in his own ears. To echo over and over and over again.

"Yar? Godsdamned article don't even mention my name. No one gives a shit about Malcolm." He sounded honestly upset. And why shouldn't he be? They even mentioned Quinn, for gods' sake.

"I can't — I can't go home."

"Nope. Fer Noxus, right?" Graves chuckled. "Right?"

"I don't want to stay here." Jayce's voice cracked. He looked up and saw the Generals circling around. But — their green eyes were sympathetic. No. _Evanson's Syndrome. _Where you identified with your captors.

"Does Ryland know about this?"

"Yar. He gave it to me. He was laughing his damned head off. Made me want ta snap everyone who laid a hand on 'im — made me want to snap their neck. Y'never know who you're hurtin'. You know that? Kid who ends up livin' in a basement or a godsderned king in charge ova country." Graves spat, the Bilgewater growing so thick he was hard to understand. "Guess we're goin' to war with more Demacia than their Hereafter, eh?"

"I've never been in the war." Jayce collapsed against the side of the palace. "No. Come on. I was going to take her home."

_I was going to take her to my favorite ice cream place. Then to a mall — she's never been. I was going to show her my apartment and have her tell me how stupid it was to have forks with swans on them and ask why I have so many damn shirts. I was going to watch her poke and prod the viewscreens. Going to listen to her mumbling back at the radio. Watch her curl up on one pillow even though I have a king size bed. _

_ Have her cook for me. She said she wanted to. Have her to cuddle with after my presentations. Stroke her hair — stroke her hair while I worked on techmaturgy. _

_Oh. She's a Dove. Oh. Oh, no. _

"Take her home?" Graves bellowed laughter. He even slapped his knee. "Y'really thought —"

"Please."

"— that they'd allow that godsdamned deviancy anywhere but here?"

"Please! I wanted to help!" Desperation.

"You sick bastard." Graves' smile took up his entire face. "You sick, sick bastard. Wheel turns. It turns."

"I wanted to help!" Jayce roared. Malcolm stumbled back. "_Please_!"

The shout echoed around the palace, drew everyone's attention. And Jayce's mind shouted back as Ezreal as a little boy _I thought y'wanted me t'be smart! _

What does everyone want? Does it matter?

He sank to his knees. Pattering footsteps arose from the stone. He looked up, vision clouded with a film of tears and sweat.

Willow-Doves. Wide blue eyes, golden hair. Happy. And concerned.

_Why. Strangers in a strange land. _Jayce choked back a sob. _Where's Erin? Where is she? What if she leaves? She can't leave me. I'm Jayce, the Defender of — _

A murmur. "Get a towel, Asher. Someone else get the ice water."

"And hot chocolate. Ryan, you know where that is?"

"I think Ms. Erinae drank it all. She said Sir Jayce doesn't have much of a sweet tooth anyway."

"No. Please." Jayce tried to struggle to his feet, but the tallest, strongest one pushed him back down. "I can — take care of myself."

"Ha." Ryan White the Dove grinned. "That's what they all say. They're always wrong."

Then, thankfully, something else happened that caught their attention.

* * *

They say the falcon cannot hear the falconer, but that's got nothing to do with Doves.

Caelyn slipped from the Haven's walls without a backwards glance. And when he fell, fell to the path leading outward, he knew he wasn't going to get back up. He could feel it in his wrists, which crunched whenever he moved them, and his ankles, which wavered like reeds. His bones were eggshell.

Somehow, he gripped the grass in scarred hands and lugged himself forward. For a little stretch. Then he was a fox, crawling on his belly, leaving strands of dull red where his ragged fur fell out.

The portal. He could see it in the darkness. A perfect oval light in the black. It wasn't natural. Nothing so smooth, so inviting could be natural.

_It's a trap, _he thought in the dim wordless way animals think, and fell to his side. His skin was sunken around his ribs.

The Demacians would chain him to the wall, throw their piggish heads back and chortle, their sickness-blue eyes glittering like fool's gold. Hit him for being bad. They didn't get it.

His tattered ears flicked forward.

Someone's voice. Sit'ra's from the dream with King Ryland. Then Ryan White's bold, laughing one. Caelyn remembered it from the barn.

_Slight chill. Crisp stars. Sweet hay. Apple cider. "Aren't you ever afraid?" He was when Sir found them kissing. Gods almighty. _

Caelyn slunk forward and paused, his breaths rapid and cracked. Noxus. He could tell by the wolves before the palace. Sir'd taken him to the palace when he was younger. Caelyn forced himself to look up occasionally from Master's hand. It was covering his.

_Are you sure _you're _not King Ryland, sir? _

_ Gods, no. Do I look like him? _

_ A handsomer version. All the Doves…are jealous…_

Caelyn the Fox-Dove staggered to his chapped paws and heard a door slam open. A door from another world. Then his name. Just as he'd heard it all those years ago in the musty, dark cathedral basement, coated with Eagle blood for the first time. Before the war. Anguish and love.

_"Isn't she beautiful, sir?" Really thinking, _Aren't you happy? You said black horses and wolves were your favorite.

_Master took Meridian's head between his palms and whispered into her ear, "You're not real, are you, lovely? I should be scared of Caelyn — no one can command animal Shades — but I'm not. I adore him." _

The small, rag-furred fox began to shake.

_Why can't I ever be good for him? So when he calls my name I don't hesitate? _

He turned to a human just as Demetrius appeared before him.

His vast, dark form was outlined in white lantern light. An angel.

A real angel after all the white marble, golden hair, swan-feathered wings, blue eyes.

Caelyn fell through the portal and into Demetrius' arms.

Ta - aikah.

* * *

Demetrius had been meditating in his dim room, books open on his lap. Sitting for long periods of time was alright if you called it meditation.

Feeling cold and lonely. Loneliness high and bitter in the top of his throat. Burning. He could try to imagine it, but Caelyn wasn't there. Not for him.

Then he was running. Demetrius always would run— to the cathedral, to the barn when he dismounted Meridian, to the washroom where he lay with his arms slashed to ribbons, to the town square when he was a ghost.

To the portal. Shoving past a forest of bodies, Doves and Generals both. He'd missed the last ghost. He wouldn't miss this one.

It was him. Even if he were thin enough to break, in clothes that were little more than damp rags. His pale skin was one enormous bruise.

They regarded one another.

_Welcome home, _Demetrius thought.

Then Caelyn fell into Demetrius' arms and everything, for a turn of the Wheel, was alright.

Caelyn was as light as a willow branch. Shivery — Ezreal had been right about that. Always shivery. And weeping, but silent. White fire cascaded onto the ground around them. It decorated the eaves of the castle, gushed onto the pavement, danced along the alder trees. It looked like the stone wolves wore wreaths of flame.

Demetrius wouldn't know that — he hadn't moved his eyes from Caelyn. He didn't even realize the two of them had fallen to the ground.

First his hands. Now his arms. The scars were white and many. Jagged lightning criss-crossing his veins. A bolt of it cut his tiny, navy tattoo of a ship's wheel in half.

It mattered not. Demetrius would trace those scars with his fingertips until Caelyn accepted them.

He found his voice, clutching the boy to him in the blinding fire. "Shh. You're back. I'm not letting you leave again. I still love you." Demetrius pressed his lips to his ear. "I've missed you. Do you know how lonely life really is? How empty?"

He was nodding hard, red-gold hair flying, face buried deep in Demetrius' collarbone. No one could tell, but his body was flooding with color. His muscles were reknitting themselves, his heart finding a steady rhythm. A reliable miracle — that was Sir.

"Do you still love me? Even after I let you die?"

Caelyn pulled away. Pulled his face away, while the rest of his body flattened atop Demetrius.

The white orb-tears, captured fire, glittering in his frost eyes were eloquent enough. Demetrius watched those frost eyes fill with green. They were never greener than shadows in the fog. He adored them.

He adored those eyes and Caelyn felt it, and the boy broke entirely. The flames rose, and the Doves and Generals and Interlopers were all strange titans among the white. Demetrius found himself looking into the eyes of a Pilt who seemed almost as lost as his boy. The stalker.

The Tactician grinned. "If you're not revolted by vampirism — or, hell, even if you are — join me in two hours."

The Pilt nodded. A little girl grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

A thought struck Demetrius. "You can't speak, can you, love?"

Caelyn shook his head. His tears dripped to the ground and flared to life.

"It matters not."

Demetrius hefted Caelyn into his arms. He'd missed the thin wrists crossed behind his neck, the cheek against his jaw. The rapid-fire breaths, fluttering heart. He'd missed everything. Oh, everything. He kissed his forehead and felt a deep, hacking shudder run through Caelyn's body. Gratitude.

"You're still mine.

* * *

Ezreal and Ryland stood on the castle balcony. The Destroyer had run to find Ryland, only to find him watching the spectacle below with a strange, sad smile on his face.

Now they could see lights in the city flickering on. The castle was bathed in flame that looked holy, righteous. Pure and clean.

"A mass murderer with a child molester." Ezreal looked away. "So why does it feel like we fixed something?"

Ryland studied Ezreal, outlined in white. As he'd been outlined in gold, sapphire, crimson. And would be outlined again soon.

The Destroyer still believed in morality when he'd been pressured to annihilate all he loved. When his princess was jealous of his best friend, the king. To lose his child. When he'd been forced to join the League, to hate his brother. Perhaps, even, to hurt Ryland.

No sane story would bring the Destroyer and the princess together.

Ryland put an arm around his bare, tawny shoulders. "I love you."

Ezreal sighed heavily. Noxus was lit up like a — well — an aurora.

"Love you, too."

* * *

When everyone was gone, Oliver dar Regale slipped through the portal. His foot caught on the bottom of it. He arrived in Noxus flat on his face and blindly panicked, worried he'd be down five toes.

"Is someone there?" A little blonde kid.

Oliver flung himself into the shrubbery and burrowed deep. The apology. He'd forgotten it.

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

He was still trying to remember when he fell asleep, three hours later.


	8. Preparations

_N.B. I'll speak more on this later, but — I suggest you not try to read this chapter in one sitting. It's a habit with Fanfiction readers that I have as well._

_ Also, god, those reviews and PM's. Thank you for those. Your kind words. I really do appreciate them. Almost done. _

* * *

Looking back, it wasn't that different.

It wasn't that different at all.

Caelyn often appeared in doorways, always entering and exiting Demetrius' life. At purple twilight as a boy, dusted in petals and pollen. In the doorway of the lake house, bare-chested, sunburned and freckle-spattered with hands covered in runny fish blood.

A smile, part arrogance, part desperate desire for reassurance. _The fish don't squeal as loud as a Battle Saint. But they are more delicious. Most of the time. _

Leaning one skinny hip against the bedroom doorframe in a snow-damp scarf and jacket, frost-colored eyes watching Sir pretending to sleep, scented with the dusty, spicy perfume of Noxus' streets.

Through Falin Manor's gates in black armor. Black and red — an echo of the _For Noxus! _that ran through his veins, wept in his blood. And every time he came through those gates, he was a little shakier, his eyes a little wilder. He clung to Sir a little more tightly.

And crying, leaving Demetrius the Tactician to decipher a message in-between choked sobs. The words were harder to unmask than Demacian war plans, and much more important. So much more.

_They cut the ch - children's' throats in front of m - m - me. They knew they were all dead and wan - wanted me to break. _

Falling on Sir's chest, wet with blood, rain, sweat and tears that tasted like the ocean.

_J - jammed a knife in - in her ear. She was s - s - six! _A gasp. _They say I'm a m - m- monster. _

Children. The only Demacians Caelyn cared about.

_Happy memories, too, _Demetrius reminded himself, carrying his boy. Caelyn could sense his thoughts. He was already shuddering. Guilt. Gratitude.

As he rested Caelyn on a chair and dragged it to the bathroom, he reached for a happy memory.

It was difficult.

Demetrius' sharp eyes could see every vein. Every star-colored bruise. The circles beneath his boy's eyes were stark black. But the pupils themselves weren't black, or even the glossy red they occasionally were. They were slightly hazed with white. And Demetrius thought he heard a _crunch _when Caelyn shifted to watch him.

_Go easy on him, Demetrius, _he thought to himself as he reached for scissors to snip his hair, get it off the back of his neck. The boy couldn't stand it when it was too long. Caelyn nosed his hand, thankful. His breath rattled in his fragile ribcage._ He's been dead for three years, after all. Doubt you'd look your best, either. _

_The movie theater. That's a good one. Demetrius, Charles, and Andrew at some historical flick. Demetrius feeling lonely — no one in the theater was below the age of fifty. But the men Demetrius' age were out whoring, or eating dinner with their wives. Charles swatted him at one point and told him to quit sighing like a schoolgirl who didn't have a date for the Springtide ball. _

_Their three Doves stumbled through the doors during intermission. It was customary in Noxus to break halfway through a movie and discuss it. The other moviegoers snapped to their feet with crisp salutes, leaving Caelyn blinking at them before murmuring "That, ah, won't be necessary, ladies and gentlemen." _

_The boys — they'd been out on the town on their own — staggered up to them, whispering, giggling. Sixteen, weren't they? Caelyn was home for two weeks. Long enough to go be stupid. _

"_Hi," Wren White said, putting a hand on his hip and grinning like a fool. "We're drunk." _

"_Oh? Is that so?" Andrew chuckled. "I couldn't tell by the reek of cheap Demacian wine." _

"_You children have horrible taste," Charles grumbled. "Is that 'Apple Core'? How do you even drink that?" _

_Demetrius smiled. "My lord. You'd think you belonged to a Staff Sargent." _

In the present, Demetrius looked at Caelyn, brushing the remnants of the matted hair from his shoulders. He couldn't stop the thought. _He looks bad. _

And for a man who'd seen his boy after he set thousands of people aflame, that was saying something.

Anxiety suddenly slipped a tight noose around Demetrius' neck. Caelyn was alive again — he could die again, couldn't he?

Demetrius cleared his throat. "Love?" The Dove tried to speak. He got nothing but a breathy squeak, then shook his head. "Are you alright?" _I can't do this again. I can't. _

The vigorous nod was reassuring. Demetrius drew a hot bath and helped him from his ragged clothes. The steam billowed around them. The Tactician dumped an entire bottle of pine-scented soap over him and guided him into the water.

The way his eyes half-closed in foxlike pleasure was reassuring, too.

As he scrubbed his neck, shoulders, chest, behind his ears, Demetrius saw Caelyn glance at his face. His eyes welled with thankful tears.

"Didn't realize I'd gotten that ugly."

Caelyn swatted him feebly and Demetrius grinned, continued the memory. Trying to ignore the tremors that were sloshing the water. _He'll be alright. He has to be alright. I can't do it again. _

The movie theater:_ He spotted a couple Black Pearl cigars in Caelyn's pocket and slipped them into his own. _

"_Hey! I won those fair and square, sir." _

"_Oh?" Demetrius traced Caelyn's jaw, then flicked his nose. "I own you. And what you've got, too. It's my right to confiscate them." He saw Caelyn's eyes darken — he was such a whore when he was drunk — and leaned nearer. "Next I'll have to confiscate your —" _

_Charles eyed them. "Demetrius, if the next word out of your mouth is 'pants,' I'm going to confiscate your spine and stab you with it." _

In the present, the pale, haunted, skeletal, fear-eyed ghost of a boy laughed into the fogged air. Silently.

"Aye. Charles is still alive. I'm sure he'll be back to bitching at the pair of us in no time." _I hope. Gods, never thought I'd hope to hear him berating the two of us again. _

The movie theater memory: _"And just what the devil are you scowling at?" Charles' eyes narrowed. _

_His boy Ryan White put up his fists and slurred, "I'll fight you some day, you raggedy old bastard. Show you that Demacia's still strong and true and running in my _-hic- _veins. Crownguard blood…forever…strong…" The Dove collapsed on his master's shoulder, asleep and breathing deeply. After a moment, Charles put an arm around his shoulders. There was a ghost of a smile on his face._

"_That was the most adorable threat I've ever received." _

"_Adorable?" Andrew White chuckled and ruffled Wren's hair. He was hiccupping too. "I'm quaking in my damn boots. Isn't that right, Demetrius?" _

_Caelyn was nuzzling his neck. The purring in his right ear was so loud that he didn't hear him. _

In the present, Demetrius' own large hands were shaking. They settled on Caelyn's soap-slick, glass-frail shoulders.

A well-intentioned but failed plan to steady them.

"Are you sure you're alright? Are you sure?"

Caelyn tried to nod. He was alright. Better than alright. _I'm with you, _he wanted to say. But he was tired. His muscles hurt. All of them.

"But — are you truly? Are you? I need to —" Demetrius realized he was squeezing him too hard, but couldn't stop himself. _I don't want to let go. Leave him. But — no. If I break we're both done for. _"Wait a moment. I'll go find the king. He's a healer."

Caelyn watched him go. Watched him come back, glance at Caelyn's scar-decorated arms and snatch all five disposable razors from the sink, jam them in his pockets and leave once more.

_I can't do this again. _

The Dove was alright for a moment.

Then he was struggling out of the tub like the fawn they'd once watched swim across their lake.

_Don't leave! I just came back! Sir? Sir! _

The blind panic made him slip, fall. Water poured over the sides of the tub with a splash. His scarred hands scrabbled for the rim.

The Tactician was back in record time. Clutching at his heart from exertion, fingers wrapped around the neck of a glowing green bottle. The other hand was helping Caelyn back into the water. Gentle, steady. As always.

Demetrius forced a smile. "I'm fine. He said you'll be alright. Drink this." He took a sip — always did of drinks given to Caelyn. If it were poisoned, they'd go down together.

Caelyn struggled to grab the drink, then chugged it. He was thirsty, not hungry. His throat felt like he was chewing sand.

Demetrius watched his lips and fingers tremble and, when the bottle was empty, slipped it immediately from his hands. It was made of glass. No need for that to be near him, not with those arms.

"We've got a visitor too. That poor man. Not that you need to worry about that. Come here."

He toweled him off, rubbing him down like he did Meridian the hell-mare, then quadruple knotted a pair of his own pajama pants around his scrawny waist and hoped they stayed.

All these little mundane thoughts grounding him, holding him to earth. If he thought of what it meant — his emaciated foxboy back in his arms — he'd break down and weep. And if he broke, they were both done for.

As for Caelyn — he'd slipped into what he thought of as _the summer world. _It was the feeling he got when he was deeply exhausted and by Demetrius' side. Love uninterrupted by words or conscious thought.

He was eight the first time it happened, chased fireflies with Ryan and Wren and the other Doves for hours and hours one long, purple summertide evening. Torches burning on the back porch, a lingering dinner and a boisterous poker game. Laughter. The war was going well.

When Caelyn collapsed by his side, Demetrius tucked him in his own coat and ruffled his hair with gentle fingers, smiling when the tiny arms wrapped around his waist, the delicate face buried in his ribs. The laughter was still loud, but Sir was warm. Demetrius massaged Caelyn's shoulders as he played the last few rounds of cards, then carried the Dove inside, kissed his forehead.

He smelled like smoke and wine. His face was tired but happy. Peace welled inside Caelyn's little body, calm and clear, deep and complete as a mountain spring. _Everything is alright. _

Sir said it then, in the present twelve years later, brushing bangs aside with his thumb. The love in his green eyes was the same.

"Everything is alright."

Sir was right. He was always right — a little waistcoat and tie or clothes too big. Perfect hands or scar-torn ones. The familiar backyard of Falin Manor, or an alien bedroom in the Noxian palace. Life or death.

_It's alright, you're still mine. _

* * *

_What the fuck am I doing? _Jayce wondered, then ran a numb hand through his sweaty, tangled dark hair, craving Erin. She and the other Willow-Doves had taken off into the city, headed for Caelyn's favorite Ionian take-out place with breathless promises of beef noodles, fried dumplings and sweet orange cola.

For that was how the Doves showed their affection — footrubs, clean towels, lovingly prepared or procured meals, hand-carved figurines. None of that _my soul burns for you _bullshit_. _There was proof.

Jayce shook his head. He didn't want to think of burning souls. Not after that white fire. It hadn't been as scary as Ezreal blowing a hole in the sky (_was anything?)_. But it was enough to make him question sitting in a comfy black-leather recliner in the Tactician's room.

_I should go. They deserve to be alone. _

Then it was too late to second-guess himself. Demetrius led a shivery Caelyn into the bedroom. The scent of pine soap was almost overwhelming.

Demetrius glanced up. "Hold a moment, Mr. Varden."

"No problem." _He must've read the article, too. No more 'Jayce of Piltover.'_

The Tactician produced a razor from his pocket. Caelyn was shaking his head — Jayce could see the frayed tendons in his neck moving as he did so. He thought he heard a soft whimper. _What the —_

"Oh, hush. It won't scar, and you're too weak to bite through my skin." So saying, the Tactician drew the blade up his arm, leaving a line of red that looked almost black in the dim light. He arranged himself and the boy on the bed.

Jayce couldn't stop his wince — Caelyn made an inhuman sound of need. A small, animal keening. His big black pupils had eclipsed his eyes.

And when Demetrius pressed his lips to the red, Jayce almost blacked out. A toe-curling surge of pleasure swept over him, a flood of bliss, along with the words _I love you, master_. Then a more conversational murmur of _Sir's always so kind and gentle. _

_Fuck, _Jayce thought. _All the empathic shit in Noxus is insane. _

Demetrius lovingly stroked Caelyn's hair and propped his own feet up on the bed's footboard. _I love you, too._

"So, Mr. Varden?"

"Please. Can you call me Jayce?"

"Of course. It seems you're — curious." Demetrius cocked his head.

"I —" Words fled Jayce, took flight like a bunch of crows and slipped from his fingers. Caelyn's hushed purring and quiet, greedy swallows weren't helping — his shoulder-blades jutting from his skin like panes of jagged glass, his ribs like the slats of an abandoned treehouse.

"What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?" Jayce blurted.

Demetrius seemed unfazed. "I suppose it's rather ironic, but I've always been partial to Demacian vanilla. Caelyn's is —"

"Dark chocolate mint?" _Erinae and Ezreal's favorite flavor? And probably Aven's, too. _

"Indeed." Demetrius' smile was handsome. Happy. "You needn't have stalked me in the library to ascertain that."

"Yeah. That was — uncalled for." Jayce clutched at his temples, searching for what to say. So many questions, all of them too awkward to ask without some sort of segue. "I'm glad you have him back."

"As am I." A pause for Demetrius to reposition Caelyn's mouth. The boy grumbled low in his throat. The Tactician hushed him, then tickled his chin. "I think I know why you're here."

"Oh yeah?" Jayce's heart kicked hard.

"That Skylan fellow —" Caelyn's ears pricked up. "— was explaining a bit of the reflection business to me. An interesting concept, to be sure. I'm assuming you think I'm yours. Well, more so than the other ones."

"That's — that's correct." _He's doing it for me. The transition. Thank gods._

"Quite. In all honesty — if this reflection thing is true — I'm relieved you're mine."

"Really?" Jayce realized he was flattered.

"Oh, aye. I thought it was Degardo for the longest time."

"Ugh." Jayce squeezed his eyes shut. Demetrius was proving to be easier to talk to than he expected, which was nice.

"I take it you've had your introduction to him." The Tactician's lips curved in a rueful grin.

"He's a fucking slime ball — sorry."

"It's alright. I'm no stranger to profanity, thanks to this one." He flicked Caelyn's ear. "It's about Erin the Riv, isn't it? She's just Erinae now."

"Yeah. Erin the Riv. He's pissed because I'm — dating her." Jayce cracked his knuckles and felt his cheeks warm. _There. I said it. _

"Aye. She's twelve, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"I saw Piltover's charges against you. Thought they were in rather poor taste." Demetrius sighed from the bottom of his lungs. "Very, very poor taste."

"Why's that?" _Besides the obvious sympathy. _

"Based on what I've heard — what I've seen from King Ryland and Skylan — you all have been exposed to a variety of magical influences. So regardless of your attraction to her, which is most likely entirely genuine, you shouldn't be held responsible for your actions." Demetrius paused and worked a finger between Caelyn's lips, pushed him away, deepened the cut with a razor, then pressed Caelyn to it once more. His purring got louder. "But Degardo. He was deeply in love with her."

Jayce's heart sank. "Really?"

"Indeed. I thought he was my reflection because he was less fortunate than me in every way, but wanted largely the same things. He climbed to Generalship for the sole purpose of procuring a Willow-Dove."

"Oh." Jayce swallowed hard. "That's —"

"A lot of work and effort for something like a servant boy." Demetrius shook his head with another sigh. "I caught him with Wren."

"You c - caught him —"

"Molesting Wren White, aye. The boys were all very little. I think you were — nine, was it?" Caelyn nodded without interrupting his sipping. "Holding him against the wall and pawing him. I almost broke his neck. Then Linnaeus came forward, then Asher. The Generals threatened to run him out of town and forbade him from getting a Willow-Dove. Forbade him after he worked so hard."

_No wonder they're afraid of dark-haired men they don't know. _"Wait." Jayce frowned. "Threatened to run him out of town? But what about —" _you? _

The Defender abruptly turned crimson.

"Me?" Demetrius sighed and shifted himself. Caelyn growled again, then held Demetrius' arm still with his hands. "They never had proof. Besides, Caelyn's my property. An ugly thing to say, but the truth. Furthermore, the Doves all argued vehemently that I'd never done wrong to them, which was true." A pause. "Though it was the only time I've ever heard Caelyn lie to anyone. About he and I."

"I see."

"And it's a bit harder to run your Tactician out than a regular General. If you want to win the war, that is." Demetrius didn't sound proud.

"Didn't you —" Jayce laughed shakily. It was nice to finally ask someone, but — "Were you ever attracted to any of the other —"

"The other Doves? No, can't say I was." Demetrius nodded. "I can understand why that would be a concern of yours."

"So it's just Caelyn." _So it'll just be Erinae. I'm not a fucking pervert. _

"Just Caelyn. Of course, now that the boys are twenty or so, there's an aesthetic appreciation." Demetrius shrugged. "But it's of the same sort I had for women."

"So you dated?"

"Almost got married multiple times. I'm most infamous for dating Madame Alicia Ashbury. The supermodel. For her wanting me to propose."

Jayce blew out a long, slow breath. "Holy shit."

"Aye. But there's — just something about women. Men. Everyone." Demetrius kissed Caelyn's temple. "Masks."

"What?"

"Masks. Everyone seems to wear masks. Layers and layers of masks. I trust you know what I'm talking about."

"I do, actually," Jayce said, and felt a sudden surge of bitterness. "The women I dated always accused me of wearing one —"

"When you were being yourself?" His tone said he already knew the answer.

"Aye — I mean, yes. But they were the ones wearing them. Layers of them, like you said." Jayce laughed and shook his head. "A fucking carnival. Especially Caitlyn."

"The Sheriff of Piltover?"

"Yeah."

"An interesting similarity in terms of names," Demetrius noted, and Jayce realized he was right. _Caelyn. Caitlyn. _"What was hers? Her mask?"

"She was gay. Interested in her partner more than me. Vi. But she tried to keep this — threesome thing going. I didn't have anyone else. But anyway." Jayce coughed and pounded his chest. The tears were still stuck in his throat. "Masks."

"Ah, yes. Those are in part why I adore Caelyn. He has none, no masks. Children don't. And they're taught by adults to have them."

"So if you don't teach them…"

"Then they don't have them."

"Erin. She hid things from me. She lied to me, sort of. About her age and parents. But it didn't bother me."

"Because the lie likely had a function. A practical purpose. It wasn't like Caitlyn, stringing you along. If you asked her, she wouldn't even say it was for pleasure, most likely. There'd be no reason there. Just emptiness, a lack of thought, no motive. Not even _for fun_, as the children would say."

Jayce blinked. _He's putting it into words. _"Uh-huh."

"And even if it didn't entirely have a purpose, with children there's still a reason, one that makes sense." Demetrius ruffled Caelyn's hair. "I suspect that openness and forgiveness was part of why Degardo fell for Erin the Riv."

"Did he really fall for her?" Jayce closed his eyes. Being identified with Demetrius — that was fine. But Degardo? _Ugh. _

"I firmly believe he did. Erin the Riv — excuse me. Erinae Varden." Demetrius fanned his face with his free hand. The weak venom — or whatever Caelyn had — wasn't poisonous, but did raise his body temperature. "He used the money he'd saved for a Dove on going to see her. She was his way around the Willow-Dove ban, since she was a girl. And truth be told, I opposed him, but the Generals didn't care as much. Most likely tired of dealing with him."

"But she left for the League before he could buy her."

"That's where she went? I'm unsurprised."

"She was — not really high up. But prominent."

"That's Erin." Demetrius half-smiled. "She was in our calendars."

"Yeah, she mentioned Caelyn being in one of those." Caelyn huffed into Demetrius' arm. "What the hell is up with those?"

"I'll get the boys to let you borrow one. Just a strange Noxian custom. But Degardo went into genuine mourning when Erinae left."

"Genuine?"

"Aye. To the core. Depression. Black depression. Then Cressida met him —"

"But she's following Ryland around. Skylan said she — thinks he's her dead husband?"

"Aye. So he's lost Cressy, too. Part of me feels bad for him." Demetrius paused. "A very small part."

"Good evening, Sir Jayce!" About fifteen or so Willow-Doves flooded the room, whispering and giggling. They settled on the opposite end of the room from Jayce after thrusting a greasy brown paper bag of food into his hands. One of them climbed into bed with Demetrius, nuzzling his side. The scent of Ionian spice wafted into the air.

_There she is. _Jayce couldn't deny that he felt better as soon as she saw her. Never mind the flying shitstorm surrounding both of them. She was still his Erin.

Erin sauntered over to him, dug through her own bag and popped a dumpling into her mouth. She looked distinctly unamused. "Geez. Didn't know Foxboy was a fuckin' leech, too."

"Erin!" Jayce hissed.

"What!" She scowled at him. "Why're you asking Tall Guy stuff anyway?"

"He's worried for your two's future." Demetrius paused. "Dearheart, did you really meet this girl in space?"

Caelyn looked up. His eyes widened when he saw Erin. He nodded and cuddled closer.

"Heh." Erin's grin had a few too many teeth. "He thinks I'm gonna rape him. What a little loser."

"Erin!" Jayce hissed again, but he was trying not to laugh. She was wearing one of the Doves' outfits, tight jeans with a tighter button-up black shirt. Her silky golden hair was pulled into a short ponytail, her tiny nails painted a vibrant saffron that echoed her eyes. She smelled like Noxus. It was hard to pin down — the closest Jayce could get was incense.

_I love her. Good lord, do I love her. _

He pulled her onto his knee and kissed her forehead. She rolled her eyes. "Alright, dummy. Someone's bein' a little lovey."

"I just —"

"Yeh, yeh. What'd you tell him, Tall Guy?"

"That you two will be alright." Demetrius smiled, and Jayce felt simple relief.

_Yeh, _Jayce thought as the Doves whispered, as Demetrius stroked Caelyn's back, as Erin nibbled another dumpling and eyed him, doubtlessly thinking he was stupid. _Yeh. We'll be alright. _

* * *

Rain fell that night in Noxus, a shimmery silver rain that seemed to kiss the pavement, the statues and cathedrals, to wash the feverish haze away. A haze of emptiness, loneliness that had grown in Caelyn's place. A mask, perhaps.

For Caelyn loved Demetrius, then Noxus, then the Wheel. The country of Noxus was, in part, his god.

It could feel his footsteps in the same way the wilderness felt Aven's, felt Ezreal's and trembled. While raccoons and sparrows trailed the Lightbringer, while hatred and despair followed Ezreal, it was a banner of pride and nationalism that swept behind Caelyn. A feeling of togetherness. Family.

Around the palace, blue roses began to poke through the shrubs. To climb the walls. Their delicate sky-colored petals were pearled with glimmering rain.

* * *

It was still raining when Ezreal awoke the next morning. He was immediately infuriated, torn from a dream of Luxanna's welcoming hands.

The room he'd been sharing with the other Doves was empty, and for a moment, loneliness blew over him like an empty wind over a vast, arid plain.

He saw his dad's taunting eyes in the desert and shook his head to clear it. _Lux soon. Save Ryland. _He much preferred this internal chant to _sun child burn. _

But still. By the time he made it to the bustling courtroom, he was feeling jittery with anger, the rims of his vision turning a dusky red.

The Willow-Doves were all clustered around — was that him? _The guy everyone was freaking out about? Ew. _His nose wrinkled.

Caelyn Falin stood out painfully among the Generals and Doves. His tight white collared shirt and black jeans still showed the impressions of his ribs, his bones, and his hands looked like charred meat. Never mind all the scars on his wrists and arms.

_Lux might have some of those. I don't care. _

What troubled Ezreal was the way Caelyn's eyes were fixed on his master's face, how he was purring, and how Demetrius' hand rested on his left ribcage. The Tactician's hand almost spanned it.

Caelyn glanced towards Ezreal and Ezreal looked away. What was truly troubling him also was the look of beatific, radiant adoration on that strange, fox-complected face. Lux had never looked at him like that. Ryland used to but didn't anymore.

Ryland. He certainly wasn't helping Ezreal's mood, either. He was ignoring Ez entirely — unintentionally, but still — laughing and talking with the Generals. The Destroyer's feelings darkened every time one of them brushed Ryland's shoulder or squeezed his elbow.

Then the memory of the newspaper article struck him. He'd forgotten. He clenched his fists.

Last night, Ryland had to hold him.

_D - disowned me? Piltover disowned me? They can't do that! I was — I was trying to help! It's Zandred's fault! It's all his fault! His fucking fault! I was trying to help! _

_I was trying to help — _the cry of the Pilts and the Eggheads. Ezreal and Jayce. _I was trying to fix it. To make it better. _

He actually wailed into Ryland's chest, thoroughly mortified because Skylan was there. And he'd felt relief when the Guardian pulled both of them against his huge chest for a hug.

Skylan's hot breath gusted against the back of his neck. _It's alright, Destroyer._

_Please. Please! _Ezreal couldn't breathe. He felt Ryland's soft, green healing energy seep into his skin, but it wasn't fast enough to stop the panic attack. _I - I - I was their — I was their — _choking. He couldn't say it, couldn't say, _I was their hero and they loved me. _

Now it was only Ryland and Luxanna who loved him, and it was rapidly looking to be only Lux.

He should've been appreciating the palace's architecture — the wolf sculptures, the tiled designs of the cosmos on the floor, how every window was an intricately-wrought galaxy of color. But he couldn't.

He felt too alone. Even surrounded by people.

_Wait. Wait. If the Wheel turns…don't I end up alone again? _

Followed by a simple thought: _No. _

* * *

Ryland was running his working hand over a white stone table. It was glossy, as if it were actually a cloud trapped and formed into a heavy slab. "And he used this to see things?"

"Indeed." Cressida smiled and smoothed the ruffles of her blue-gray dress, ignoring Kat's evil glare. The assassin would learn. In time.

"Hmm. Skylan?"

"Aye." The Guardian shrugged. "It's not that different from using water. That's what I used."

"I always just used metal or glass. Whatever was around."

Charles White cleared his throat. "Bit off topic, your majesty, but have you any intention to name a queen?"

Ryland glanced over his shoulder at Kat gritting her teeth, at Cressida smiling into her closed hand. "Uh. Not at this time."

"Katarina and Cressida?" Rowan chuckled. "He's going to get fucked to death before he enacts his first ordinance." A round of quiet laughter.

Demetrius coughed politely. "Your majesty. Your knight wishes to meet with you."

Ryland looked to Caelyn and frowned, deep in thought. The boy stood there, head demurely bowed. _A Noxian war hero is standing two inches in front of my face and thinks I'm his king. _

Before vertigo could consume him, he cupped Caelyn's chin and watched his cheeks turn a neon pink, freckles vanishing. The promise to hurt the Foxboy was already gone, most of the jealousy quickly worn away by being treated as an equal, a human being by other men.

Caelyn's eyelashes fluttered, and when Ryland heard the purr of anxiety start in his throat, he pulled him close, stroking his shoulders, neck, hair with his one good hand. The purring got louder.

"So cute," Ryland murmured, then laughed when Caelyn nosed his palm. His upper lip was curled slightly, like a cat sniffing something. "Eheheh."

The Generals exchanged glances and shrugs, smiles. Katarina glared at him. "Ryland."

"Kat?"

"You're dweebing out."

"But he's cute. He's like a little — I don't know. Like a pet." Caelyn leaned against his chest and wrapped his arms around Ryland's ribs. His eyes were sparkling.

"Well. Not quite the greeting I was expecting." Demetrius couldn't help but look pleased. This boded well. Maybe the king wouldn't abuse the boy as Jericho Swain had.

"Ah. Um." Ryland flushed lightly. "Thank you for your service. Welcome home." Caelyn nibbled his hand. Ryland tried not to smile. "Can he not speak?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Hmmm." Ryland closed his eyes — blind to Ezreal seething with fury — and placed a palm over Caelyn's throat. Caelyn purred as loudly as an idling engine. "The problem's in his brain. From not speaking for so long — he's still functioning mostly as an animal. Give him a couple weeks."

"Pity," Degardo muttered. "I like him better like this." He was promptly glared at by every other General in attendance.

"Thank you, your majesty." Demetrius nodded. Caelyn burrowed shyly into his master's side. "You have our eternal gratitude. It isn't much, but —"

"Oh, spare us," Charles White grumbled. The Falin fortune was estimated to be roughly equivalent to Ionia's worth.

" — you have access to my family's finances, as well as to our name."

"Name?"

"Aye. I imagine it must feel a bit strange to be the Noxian king with a name like Whitefield. And if I remember, your father lacks a surname."

Ryland glanced at Darius and was startled to see him nodding.

_From Michael Whitefield to Ryland Falin. A Demacian Archangel to a Noxian King…wow. _

Demetrius, seeing the light fade from Ryland's eyes, said quietly, "Think on it if you wish, sire."

"I will. Thank - thank you." Ryland shook himself and studied Caelyn again. Tucked beneath Demetrius' arm. _Hmmm. _"Anyway. Skylan and I are going to attempt to find the God of Creation and Luxanna. Then preparations can begin in earnest." A round of nods, then light murmuring.

Ryland turned to Skylan — the man who'd once promised to break his face. Now, a friend. The first real friend Ryland had ever had. Besides Ezreal. If you counted that. _Let's see here…_

Demetrius stood beside Jayce and laughed. "Gracious. Thought I was about to be replaced."

"You know, about the whole pheromone thing, where the Doves are addicted to you guys…" The thought had been troubling the Defender for a while now, not only because Degardo the Slimeball had told him.

"Hm? Oh, that." Demetrius put the back of his hand beneath Caelyn's nose and watched him breathe deep, eyes closed. The boy's lips parted.

"Um. Yeah. That." _This country's still weird. Regardless of anything. _Jayce had only realized just how weird waking up the next morning, Erinae curled up on top of his chest. _Caelyn was fucking drinking his blood while we talked. What the fuck? _"Maybe Ryland puts off a lot of it. Because he's the king."

Jayce watched Erinae tug on a Dove's hair — Nikolai Hale, a little one. The boy tried to growl. She growled louder, whispered, "Cats eat Doves for breakfast."

"Madam!" He snapped. "You can't eat me! General Hale needs me to cook for him!"

_Good lord, _Jayce thought as Demetrius nodded. "An interesting theory. Probably true. Caelyn's not usually that friendly."

"Maybe. Hey, Erin." She was clawing at the poor boy now, who just stood there with a brave look on his face. _Is that what the others looked like when Degardo — ughhhh. _"Erin. Quit it."

She ignored him and tickled Nikolai.

"They always get like this around that time of month," a different General said. Raeford.

Jayce froze. "Um. How do you — did she tell — how did you know that?" _If he says he can smell it, I'm out. I'm leaving for Ionia. _

"You know, there are days I wonder just what the hell people say about this country," Raeford muttered. Demetrius chuckled. "No, Sir Jayce. I'm married to an _Erinae_. I can tell by the look in her eyes."

"Really?"

"Aye. Tabitha Raeford. You don't want to yell at her while she's in this state." Raeford rolled the sleeve of his right arm up. The top of his bicep was covered in a deep, pitted wound. A lynx bite. "Take it from me. They're not as human."

"Oh. Thanks for the, uh, tip." _Oh dear gods. _Noxian life would take some getting used to.

A little ways away, Ryland and Skylan leaned over the cloud-table.

_Ready? _

_Aye. _The Guardian tried to quiet the stirring in his stomach. Worry. He'd watched Ryland, Ezreal, Jayce (and, to a quieter extent, Malcolm Graves) break down without flinching. But the thought of Aven in pain…_He's alright. I know he is. _

From the corner of his eye, he watched Ezreal near them. Then he and Ryland were focusing, entwined. Their mental links to Aven and Ezreal were deep, but not as complete as this state. The boundaries of identity, already wavery from a lack of soul, fell away, exposing themselves entirely.

Skylan faced the memories of abuse, of loneliness and emptiness and countered them with overwhelming memories of love and companionship. He knew Aven would be able to burn away the dark entirely. _We've only got to save him. _

The cloud-table was suffused by a warm, welcoming silver glow, like the sun shining through the falling rain outside. After a moment, faint colors began to ripple atop it. Mostly green. Faint, then fuller. Grass and hills. Then the sky leaked in — a blue undeniably Demacian, harsh and flat and unforgiving.

The golden spire emerged, a glittering starbolt fallen to earth.

"Having a sorcerer king is so cool," Ryan White the Dove whispered to his fellow servants. They murmured in excitement.

Caelyn was watching the table, wide-eyed. The tips of his fingers were grasping at Demetrius' shirt sleeve. He didn't realize Demetrius was watching him, remembering the same startled, doe-eyed look from Caelyn's first Wintertide festival. _Sir, t - take those gifts back. _

The Tactician held him closer and kissed his forehead. _So good to have him. He's still the same. _

Then Ryland and Skylan frowned identically, at the same time.

_You feel it too? _

_Aye, Sir Ryland. _

_That's too convenient…_

_Is it? Ta - aikah, right? _

_Fuck the Wheel, _they both thought. They focused on the golden spire. A chamber faded into view. A bed, a few bookshelves, and —

"No!" Ezreal's roar startled everyone, but not as much as the erupting red beneath his feet. It soared into the air, filling the courtroom, spilling over portrait and window and statue alike.

Caelyn loosed a startled white geyser of his own — a fountain of fire. Soon the Generals, Doves and Interlopers were enveloped in flame. It was only Skylan's fast reflexes that kept them all from burning.

The Doves and Generals clutched at one another. When it was clear they weren't going to die, Degardo whispered, "Well. The doctors did tell me it was healthy to shit my pants once a day."

"What kind of fucking quack are you going to?" Andrew White asked, knees shaking.

"I refuse," Ezreal hissed through his teeth, blue eyes twinned stars.

Ryland looked at the table. A perfectly clear picture of Aven finger-brushing Luxanna's hair, then leaning against her. She hugged him. There were puffy red tear-tracks beside her sky-colored eyes. Aven cuddled nearer. His face was bruised slightly, a little swollen, but he was okay. After a moment, Lux lifted his chin and brushed her lips over his.

_No way, _Ryland thought numbly. He looked up to see Ezreal's rage-contorted face. The first time Ezreal hurt him — or no, the second — when he'd bruised his jaw. Beat him in the tent. He'd looked like that. After Ryland saved Luxanna from bleeding out.

The memory was followed by a strong, quiet, determined thought: _He's not going to humiliate me in front of my people. _

"We're putting my godsdamned excuse of a brother to death," Ezreal _Sit'ra_ snarled. "We'll burn his blood on an altar, let him rot in Skelgarn for all I —"

"_SILENCE_!" Ryland's voice echoed off every stone surface. It was deep, came from somewhere hidden inside his sternum. Where his heart was.

Ezreal's Pulsefire II winked out, followed by Caelyn's white. _Hiss. _Demetrius was murmuring in his ear, praying internally that he still had control over the fire.

The Destroyer's chest was heaving. He collapsed against the cloud-table, hands atop Luxanna's image. "She — can't —"

"Ez."

"Not her, too. Please." His voice was cracking. "Please, gods."

"You're my favor—"

"Bullshit!"

"Look, little one," Skylan rumbled, slapping an enormous palm over Ezreal's shoulders. Everything had fallen away when he saw Aven safe. Mostly unharmed. Now to soothe the other. "Just like little Foxboy, is it not?"

The Center World Noxus was strong and thick in his voice. And deeply startling.

"Wh —"

"We have _seen _Luxanya's compassion —" (_compash - e - own? _Ryland blinked). " — for the tiny slave beneath Sir Fahl-lane's arm."

The Generals were staring. Ryland tried to clear his head. It wasn't working. _The accent. He's not from this world. I'd almost forgotten, I —_

Ezreal looked at the table and gagged when Aven kissed Lux's cheek. When Aven smiled, he gagged harder, then whirled.

"Hey, you. Fagboy." Caelyn pointed to himself and cocked his head. The other Doves clustered tighter together, hurt plain on their faces. _But he's our hero._ "Yes, you. They think you're some fucking _war hero _—"

"Ezreal." Ryland reached for him. He pulled away.

The venom spilled. _That'll teach Ryland to hold him. _"Noxus won't disown you. But you're nothing without your _daddy_. You're fucking dust. Yes, you. Did Lux ever kiss you?"

Caelyn was unshakeable. He looked up at the ceiling, struggling to remember. Then he nodded and held up three scarred fingers.

"Well, I know she didn't really like you. So it's the same thing?" He turned to Skylan, shaking.

Skylan nodded. "Luxanya has a very strong military background. To use it would be easy. Survival. She's captive." The accent was fading. Ryland was deeply relieved.

"And," Demetrius added, startling everyone. "It is likely that — Death, was it? He placed Aven and Luxanna in conjunction with one another in hopes of angering you and furthering his plot to end the Wheel."

Ezreal froze. "You're — you're probably right."

"Oh, I'd guarantee it, based on what I've heard. He's one of the game players, the kind that arrange dead people in lewd poses or has fun with torture." Demetrius looked incredibly animated. The other Generals were nodding. _He's back. Demetrius Falin is back for sure. _"Though I'm unsure as to why they're — well. They are dead, aren't they?"

"Aven's alive," Skylan said firmly.

"So it's not a heaven so much as a country." Demetrius sounded excited. That made Caelyn's resurrection much easier to cope with. _He was just — deployed. As usual. _

Jayce nudged the nearest General. It was Degardo, but they were both too distracted to hate each other. "What the hell's gotten into him?"

"War planning. He lives for it and Caelyn."

"But is Death Demacian? Would be poetic and fitting, but I doubt it." Demetrius snapped his fingers. Caelyn watched them intently. His eyes narrowed. He snatched for them with his teeth and missed. "Oh, dear. Ryan, bring me a notebook. Two. And my pens." He kissed Caelyn's temple. "I'm so glad you're here to help again."

Ezreal's eyes were deep and dark. Ryland watched numbly as he began to glow. A soft, lovely gold, outlining his body. _The Wheel turns. _

"Ezreal." _I can say his name so many times. It won't matter. He'll always love her more, but that's okay. I've got a country now. _

The Destroyer was silent, lost in Luxanna's face. He watched Aven trace her cheekbones.

_She hates him. She has to. She does. She does she does she does —_

Lux hugged him. Ezreal retched, gagged. Ryland crept nearer.

"I'm not sharing her with him! No!" Ezreal's face was laced with desperation. _I already have to share you! _

"Come here." Always the offer of welcoming, open arms.

But Ezreal snarled. "Don't touch me. I'm not one of those fucking servant boys. No matter what the hell you think. Even if you really are the king." He saw the bright blue eyes of the Doves fixed on him and gnashed his teeth. _They can have Fagboy. I don't need them either. Just Lux. _

He Arcane Shifted twice and was out the palace doors. Skylan glanced at Ryland and followed him.

After a moment, the Generals' voices began to rumble. "My stars. I'd hate to be Demacia right about now," Charles White muttered. Everyone agreed.

Ryland sighed. "I'm sorry about that."

"Not a worry." Demetrius was clearly lost in the thought.

"Mostly about him insulting you, Sir Falin." Ryland hesitated, then scratched under Caelyn's chin. _So cute. _

"Oh, he's been called worse. Haven't you, dearheart?" Demetrius' hand rested on Caelyn's cheek. He shivered, delighted by all the physical affection. The king and Sir were lovely. "Far worse."

"Like what?" Jayce asked, and immediately regretted it.

"You know," Demetrius said cheerfully. "Slut, whore, chewtoy, cocksleeve, cumsock. Things like that." Jayce and Ryland gaped at him.

But before they could respond, the palace doors were flung open again.

* * *

But even before that — what finally brought Luxanna and Aven together was interrogation. After Oliver dar Regale's mysterious disappearance, Saint Sarturo Leanbranch questioned Aven closely. And when the questions produced nothing but light-hearted Pilt chatter, Saint Leanbranch backhanded him once, twice. Then again. Again. And again.

He wanted to hurt him more, to erase the sparkle that filled his leaf green-eyes whenever Ryland's name was mentioned. Saint Garamond grabbed his arm and shook his head. Luxanna's face was stark with horror.

"Maybe that'll keep you from confessing your love to the Shade King." The Saint felt a momentary stab of guilt when Aven peered up at him with shiny green eyes, then left with a huff. Saint Garamond threw an apologetic glance over his shoulder. He had bigger problems.

Then Lux blurted "I want to go home" and Aven said "Aye, madam, I do too" and they fell on each other, weeping silently. Neither one of them was used to being kept in a cage.

The Aurora Liliana's bejeweled birdcage would've been hell for Aven, who longed to soar, but couldn't at the moment — there were bars on the window, and where would he go, anyway? As for Luxanna, it was the long, blank, unstructured periods of time that were eating away at her. Even at the League life had had a rhythm. Especially with Ezreal there. Like the sun.

Aven's hiccupped sobs made Lux hold him tighter. _Regardless of Ryland — he's still Ezreal's flesh and blood, so there's got to be a fragment of Ezreal in there somewhere. _

She found it in Aven's irregular heartbeat. The Lightbringer and the Destroyer's arrhythmia was one and the same.

* * *

Ryland was just beginning to believe. _Maybe I am important. I am a person. I'm even more than Ezreal's best friend. People look up to me. _

Then those thoughts flicked off, burst like a soap bubble, when Oliver dar Regale stumbled through the palace doors.

"Let go!"

"I think not, bastard." Skylan's voice rang in the palace. "Ryland! Look what the fucking fox drug in!"

Caelyn blinked at the mention of a fox, before realizing it wasn't him. Ryland stepped back as Oliver was flung unceremoniously to the floor before him. Memories he thought he'd erased threatened to erase him instead.

_Why do I do this? Mm. You're so soft, and you squeak whenever I touch you too hard. See? _A sound of pain. _Like that. _

Oliver tried to struggle to his feet. Skylan shoved him down by the back of his neck. "Stay down, you mangy godsdamned cur."

"Your…majesty…" Oliver panted.

"Yes?" _The Wheel turns. Here he is again. _Ryland waited to feel shock or anger. All he felt was cold sadness.

"King Mich — ouch!" Skylan's foot collided with Oliver's ribs.

"It's. Ryland. It's Ryland, you uninformed whoreson." The dark anger on Skylan's face was terrifying.

"King Ryland," Oliver wheezed. "I have come to offer my services as your — your —" Oliver's mouth snapped shut.

_Caelyn Falin? The face from the magazines? And Katarina du Couteau — my gods, Whitefield really did date her? And there's Darius of Noxus. Holy shit. And this must be the god in love with him. Or the gods. That one guy is glow — wait. Holy shit. That's Ezreal. Fucking Ezreal from all of Whitefield's books. _

He felt a momentary drop in his stomach. It was a Shade of Ezreal that had eaten his face. But it lasted only a moment.

He was so starstruck he didn't notice that pretty much all of them were glaring at him.

"Ryland? Is this that douchenozzle?" Katarina spat.

Anger made Darius' face blank. "You've got hell to pay."

"Serve as his what? His what?" Skylan snarled. "Speak, dunce."

"Knight. Squire. Something. Anything." _He's beautiful. _Ryland looked radiant, dressed in black instead of white. Something was different about his face. Confidence? His eyes were prettier.

"Oh yeah? And why should he let a piece of shit like you do that, huh?" Ezreal was grateful to have another target for his rage. "When you're a fucking loser? You fucking —" Ezreal kicked him. But it didn't hurt. He was no Guardian.

"I —" _He's hot. It's not just me being a fag. Anyone would fall in love with him. _Oliver lost speech again.

"Speak before I kill you." Skylan's voice was flat. Final.

Oliver swallowed hard. "Whitefield. You look great."

Ryland stared at him. Lying at his feet. It wouldn't do any good to kill him again. If anything, death had only increased his desperation.

"_Why do you stick around an ox like me anyway, Whitefield?" _Pause. "_What sort of name is that anyway? Fields are green. Or tan." _

"_Oh yeah." A playful punch in the cold autumn rain. _

Before things had gone bad and the other guys were holding him down, shoving his jaws apart, fingers crushing the tip of his nose so he couldn't breathe —

"_Like dar Regale is better."_

"_Nah. I'd do anything to get rid of my name." _

Anything to get rid of anything. Like, say, suspicion of being in love with the resident Noxian.

"_I don't really like mine either. Everyone hates the senator."_

Not even screaming anymore. Not crying, either, not even after the "Don't talk with your mouth full" joke. Jaw aching. Choking a little on his knees, both hands digging into the rough, cheap brown carpet of the barracks. Huge hand buried in his black hair. Pushing him forward. "Is it really that bad?" No, because at least it was warmth and not emptiness. False salvation from the cold and the dark.

"_The senator? Not your dad?" Blonde, handsome with the water rolling down his jaw, into the collar of his peacoat. Both of them a little hazy from 'Apple Core' wine. Michael hadn't wanted to sneak the good stuff from home this time around —his mother Merilyn had switched him for stealing it last time and snarled, _Of course you need to get your boyfriend drunk before he'd fuck you.

_Hazy. From being a little drunk and — well — other things._

_So it was okay to kiss his cheek and watch that chiseled jaw turn a light pink._ _Kiss his mouth._

"_Nope. Not my dad. Don't tell anyone." _About dad, or the kiss.

"Heh. Secret, right?" Roger's beady eyes flicked to all of them. He'd be dead in about twenty minutes. "Duh." "I guess you don't like him." Eyes narrowing. Oliver's laugh. "You serious? I fucking hate him."

"_Don't tell anyone? Gee, Whitefield. Haven't heard that one before." Oliver rolled his eyes and shoved him against an alley wall. "I know why you stick around."_

"_You do?" Michael purred into his shoulder as those huge hands slid across his belly. He was warm. So warm. _

"_Mhm." He whispered in his ear — there were people passing by. All in secret. "Because you're mine."_

Ryland looked up, into the green eyes of the Generals. Sympathetic. Curious, but sympathetic. At Ezreal, still boiling over with rage. Skylan, his soulless friend. Cressida, his wife from four hundred years ago. Katarina. Abusive, misunderstood Katarina. His real father Darius, who looked faintly ill.

Then Caelyn, purring happily under Demetrius' arm, while Demetrius frowned, deep in thought.

Ryland said softly, "It's Falin."

Oliver recoiled. "What?"

"Not Whitefield." _Never again._ The same sense of abandon — when he changed his name from Michael to Ryland. Carefree. An airy weightlessness. Hope. He could feel the approval from the others in the room, just as he felt the shock and dismay emanating from Oliver dar Regale.

His voice was strong and sure.

"Ryland Falin. King of Noxus."

_Ta - aikah. _


	9. Interlude: His Hands

_N.B. Now, would I still be vOceanic without an Interlude/Flashback? Of course not. _

_**This chapter's optional. Set in the past. **_

_This is actually Caelyn's origin story — Katarina's perspective is, anyway. Demetrius' POV showed up later._

_Caelyn Falin appeared around April 4__th__ and hasn't left me alone since. Not for an instant. I cut him from _A True Champion_, a simple 17 pages. I didn't want him there._

_But as with the Aven and Skylan chapter, the Wheel had other ideas. After firmly deciding not to put him in, his story spilled from my pencil. And like a goddamned idiot, I fought it._

_So there were multiple versions. An enormous history. And the characters around him grew and grew. His horse. His wolves. I had to promise him a 700 page OC novel. _

_You know the Wheel he brought down from the sky a couple chapters ago? That was ATC. He killed it. _

_If I had just put him in, ATC would've ended sooner and correctly. There'd be no _Ta - Kitair. _Hell, there wouldn't even be _The Right Dress. _That whole thing was one giant Caelyn logjam. _

_So, three months too late, here's what happened. _

_Sandry — thank you for your review. It's reviews like that that keep me going. Convince me I might actually be a little talented. People who have trailed me from _Home at Last _to now…damn. That's a shitload of reading. So thank you. _

_Also. Two of the songs I associate with him: _

"Carolan's Welcome" — the Waterboys (the theme to the opera _Demetrius & Caelyn_)

"Nocturne" — Celtic Woman (I know, shitty band).

* * *

_Eight Years Ago_

She was nineteen again, young enough to believe she was going to find her father. Surely someone as famous as General du Couteau couldn't just vanish. This was before she knew just how deep the currents of Noxus ran. Anyone could vanish into the inky black without as much as a ripple.

She tugged on her green satin dress, smirking at how much cleavage it revealed. The perfume Darius had chosen for tonight was earthy and exotic, as dark as the onyx on her earrings. She heard him groan in the living room, his huge feet propped on Swain's Ionian glass coffee table.

"What's wrong, Darius?"

"Sir?"

"You're groaning like a dying sheep."

"I don't want to sleep with General Demetrius, sir."

"Who said you had to? That's what we have Katarina for."

Jericho Swain's tone was dismissive. Katarina smiled into the ornate silver mirror, brushing her ruby hair and watching the setting auburn sun gleam off her necklace. Swain had expensive tastes — the mirror was ringed by delicate sculptures of birds.

"Sir. General Demetrius is about as straight as a Demacian lynching post after they take prisoners of war." Katarina laughed aloud and Darius rapped on the wall. "Are you done yet? This is why I'm not married. Women take too damn long."

"You can't rush perfection, sir," she called, lining her eyes. She was absolutely giddy. Gods, these missions were her favorites.

"Good. I wouldn't want you to, du Couteau," Jericho murmured. Petrarch chirruped in agreement. "This is going to be our greatest challenge yet."

"Greater than the Red River Massacre, sir?"

Swain paused. "Well, maybe not."

"Greater than the Black Falls campaign?"

"Well —"

"How about the Galley Raids?"

Kat heard the dark humor lurking in his voice and grinned. Darius was in a good mood. This was going to be great.

"How about you shut your impertinent mouth, Darius? I meant of these sorts of missions."

"I am fully aware of what you meant, sir."

"Really? Sometimes I can't tell if you're a General or a blockhead."

"Thank you for complimenting my jawline. Sir."

Katarina snickered and went out to meet them. Her hair trailed past her breasts. She had six blades tucked beneath the silky emerald dress, but could barely feel their cold steel through her excitement. She relished the wordless admiration in Darius' eyes.

Swain's was more of a fatherly approval. "Very nice, as always."

"Thank you, sir." She looked to the Demon General. "Well? Enough to make even you talk?"

"If I were as braindead as most of our Generals apparently are, of course."

She giggled and took his arm as they walked into the hazy springtide evening. Her heels clicked in tempo with Swain's cane against the ground. Whenever a Noxian did glance at them, they quickly looked away.

She caught Darius studying her face and winked. "Having fun pretending we're dating?"

"Who said I wanted to date? Fucking's quite enough for me." His dark eyes weren't without affection. She blushed deeply.

"Concentrate, please. I was not joking about the difficulty. I need both of you at your best." Swain looked at them, and Katarina felt a surge of some strange, nameless emotion in the dying sunlight. It was how she used to feel when her father was at home. Like a family.

"We'll try our hardest, sir," Darius murmured.

"No trying. Success only."

They'd had a Noxian General — one of the higher ups — turn on them a few months ago. General Stephens had been caught and tortured to death, but all the howling in the world couldn't bring back the knowledge he'd given to the Demacians.

The real problem was that they had no idea how much or what information had been leaked. Based on the Demacians' past few moves, it had to be substantial. Surprise strikes they planned months in advance were met by Eagles in shining white armor. Assassin plots were spoiled by mysteriously-increased bodyguards. The Demacians would wait for the soldiers to move, then attack the defenseless spot — like the cowards they were.

They'd even taken Katarina captive. She fucked her way out of it, of course — Garen Crownguard still couldn't look Jarvan in the eye — but that was the decisive point for Swain. A leak couldn't happen again. And to prevent it, they had to know their Generals' weak points.

They took to holding their tactical meetings at the Generals' different manors. To prevent the Demacians from knowing where to strike all of their Generals at once, Swain said. The real reason was to understand the men who led Noxus, who carried the city-state's fate in their black-gauntleted hands.

The lower Generals were frustratingly simple — though Kat got bonus hazard pay and sexy dresses out of it, so she couldn't really complain. Few of them were able to resist her. With Darius, she was unstoppable.

They tag-teamed them, covered them with cologne and perfume, sly smiles, little jokes, and the promise of unspeakable power. Katarina hadn't known it was physically possible to have so many threesomes — so much sex with Darius and men in suits with black hair, who knew they only had her for the moment.

They started at the bottom and worked their way up in more ways than one. She remembered the first time they'd been refused — she was genuinely insulted.

But Darius' focus was legendary. He ignored her rage-filled tirade and grabbed General Cawdor's wrist, rolling his suit sleeve up. "That's a pretty nice watch."

"I - thank you, sir." The man's face turned bright red. Darius examined it more closely. It was gold and silver. The black hands had tiny crescent moons on the tips.

"Good luck charm, maybe?"

"Maybe." Cawdor was shaking.

"See to it that it remains unbroken."

He had to drag Katarina out of the manor. She was furious. "Really? His weak point's his fucking watch? That's so stupid!"

Darius pulled her into the nearest alley and abruptly fucked her against the wall, the red velvet of her dress growing damp between them. He covered her mouth with his huge hand. Lipstick smeared across his fingers. Her indignant words faded into moans of pleasure that drifted on the hot summer air.

When he was done, he sighed. "Not everyone's as blinded by sex as you are."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"The smarter a man is, the weirder his weak point. Just watch."

"Was that a pun?"

That half-smile. Ryland's inheritance. That, and dark hair. And perhaps blood made of shadows.

"Maybe."

So she watched. The higher up they went, the stranger it got. One man's was his pack of purebred grey hounds. The twinkle in his eye as he showed them off made Kat cringe.

Another was his grandfather clock (_what is it with these men and time? _Kat remembered wondering). A bonetooth china set. A diamond ring from his grandfather. A locket with a snippet of his mistress' hair. A pair of lucky shoes.

One man's was his dead wife. Kat, wearing dark-blue navy silk this time, huffed as she left the mansion. General Lance was hot as hell. But no — they'd made him weep before she could get to his dick.

"What the hell do we do if he turns, huh? She's dead."

Darius glowered at her. The General had gotten tears on the Demon General's suit. "Dig up her body and make him eat it."

"Wow. I love it when you talk dirty," she muttered sarcastically. They ended up fucking in one of Swain's huge ornamental beds anyways. Her dark-blue dress slid over Darius' bare chest and the silky sheets. Kat had to bite his shoulder to stop her scream when she came. They watched the stars come out through the large picture window, her red hair spilling across his neck.

And so it went until they reached Demetrius. He was their Prime Tactician and fourth-in-command. As Swain put it, he was brilliant. As Darius said, he was smarter than fifty Demacians strung together.

And as their Tactician, he had access to literally all of their information, and could bring Noxus down singlehandedly if he chose to. So it was absolutely imperative that they knew how to control him.

The problem was they had no idea. They couldn't even tell if he was hiding anything. On one hand, it meant Demetrius was skilled at deception — a valuable talent. On the other, they couldn't read him.

But perhaps that wasn't surprising. General Demetrius couldn't read his own Dove, and they were of one soul.

* * *

_Across Town_

Springtide brought Falin Manor to its fullest bloom. Under Caelyn's care, the gardens overflowed with fresh life, from aloe plants to the boy's prized blue roses. Hummingbirds in coats of iridescent green and turquoise flitted around the sun-shaped feeder hanging from the porch — Caelyn's present for his twelfth birthday, four weeks ago.

Demetrius sipped his lemonade and said to twin Generals Charles and Andrew White, "You're positive they're not teasing him? Absolutely sure?"

Sir Andrew grasped Demetrius' knee and looked him in the eye. "More than sure. We know. I wish you wouldn't let it trouble you so."

Sir Charles stirred from the sleepy reverie brought on by the warm sun and fresh breeze. "Should we tell him?"

Andrew winced. "Wren will be incredibly cross with me if we do."

"True, but Demetrius is cross now," Charles pointed out. "Quite frankly I'm not sure how he doesn't know, considering his role in intelligence. This is his domain."

"What don't I know?" Demetrius asked patiently. The two White brothers often spoke as if no-one else were present, a holdover from living with each other and their twin Willow-Doves.

It was strange to think that the Whites were technically ranked lower than him. He was fourth-in-command, they fifth and sixth. Of course, such a thing would've mattered only within Demacia, not in the Noxian countryside.

Sometimes the fact struck him that he was an incredibly powerful man from a wealthy family. Most of the time — between peaceful evening walks with Caelyn by his side and, of course, researching the war — he forgot.

Andrew took another sip of coffee and leaned back into the green lawn chair contemplatively, shining black boots crossed. They were all in black pants and white shirts, waiting to put on their dress-down armor for the talks tonight.

A yellow ladybug crawled across Andrew's knuckles. He shooed it away. "The Willow-Doves worship Caelyn."

"I —" Demetrius blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"Saint Caelyn. They worship him." Charles White nodded towards the lush lawn, where Ryan, Wren and Caelyn were huddled over a massive book of Ionian fairytales in the shade of the alder trees. Rather, Caelyn was reading, and the Whites' Doves were snuggled beneath his arms. The studious boy didn't seem to notice.

"Well," Demetrius said politely. "That's certainly not what I was expecting."

"You can never be sure of the Doves. What were you thinking?"

Demetrius hesitated. "I — I'm not sure. He had a breakdown about four weeks ago."

The Generals' eyes filled with identical sympathy. It was genuine, too. Ryan, Wren and Caelyn were all close — or as close as Caelyn could be to other people besides Demetrius.

Though Charles still had his suspicions, the earnest little Dove had grown on him. Andrew adored him.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Aye, sorry," Charles echoed. "But why think it was the other Doves? Did he say anything about them?"

"It was about how he looked," Demetrius blurted. Caelyn had been so ashamed that Demetrius felt a pang of guilt just for speaking of it. But maybe the Generals White would have advice. "You know, speaking of worship — he idolizes your Ryan, Charles."

"Is that so? Interesting."

"Not Wren?" Andrew grinned ruefully. He was ranked below his twin brother. "Suppose he gets the short-end of the stick, too. Like master, like Dove."

"Wren, too. Any boy actually. He always says —" Demetrius hesitated again, then pressed on. "— that I should get a real one. He focuses mostly on Ryan, though. Says he's perfect."

General Charles White tightened the laces of his boots, brow furrowed. "Have you ruled out the possibility of a crush?"

Demetrius had a moment of vertigo. _Good gods. We sound like a bunch of Demacian housewives. We're hours away from finalizing the plans for the largest strike against Demacia in written history. The plans I spent months researching and drawing up. And here I am, talking about the hearts of boys and finding them just as important. _

He took a swallow of lemonade. "He's not really the type. He — he saw Jennings and his boy walking down the road and muttered something about _perfect courtship_."

"Something perfect about Jennings' boy?" Andrew guffawed. "Please, spare me."

"It's true."

"What was the fit like?" Charles asked, frowning in thought.

The fit had been as sudden and explosive as a summer storm, the evening before the boy's birthday. The morning was pleasurable — he had Caelyn read the headlines of the _Demacian Press _to him over breakfast. The General would later go back through them to see if something had triggered it, but there was nothing.

Then Caelyn vanished. Demetrius was completely and entirely engrossed in the war plans — the lines on the vellum had to be completely straight, each symbol perfect. He assumed the boy was out weeding the daffodils or trimming the ivy. So Falin Manor was nice. Nice enough for Demetrius.

When he looked up it was dark outside. Caelyn wasn't waiting by his side for Demetrius to come to bed, and Demetrius went to find him, nervousness crawling up his skin.

_I wish my eyes were blue. Honestly. Truly. _He had dug deep red furrows into his cheeks before Demetrius found him crouched in a shadowy corner in one of the unused guest rooms. He was clawing at his face, expressionless. The sound of skin tearing was like silk being torn in two.

Demetrius had knelt beside him, fighting panic. He seized the boy's hands in his own. _Caelyn. I chose you from the rest of the orphans. I wanted you. You alone. _

_ But my eyes. They're so ugly. _He couldn't even look at Demetrius. Huge tears were dripping down his blank face, dappling the pages of his latest astronomy textbook. It put Demetrius in mind of the rain in summertide that fell, sparkling, from cloudless skies. _I don't want to be ugly for you, sir. Please, gods. Please. _His voice was a ragged whisper. _Please. I've even prayed to the angels of Demacia for them to be blue. For you, sir. _

_You're beautiful, child. Why can't you believe me? _

_I just want to be nice. Nice for you. All I want. I'm already u - use - _

_ You're not useless. _

_ T — truly? _His expressionlessness cracked. His pale green eyes squeezed shut.

_Aye, truly. I adore you. _

The sobbing boy collapsed into his lap. It took hours for the shaking to stop. Hours of Demetrius slowly rubbing the trembling from his limbs, tracing his ribs, murmuring soft words of love into his hair. The Tactician watched the orange moon sail slowly past and felt Caelyn's hot tears seeping through his shirt. He ached to help.

Demetrius omitted the next part of the tale. _I just want you to be happy, love, _he had whispered to the slumbering child. _To know how much you mean to me. I want to help as badly as you want blue eyes. _He thought it would sound odd, even to the brothers White, who were famously close to their boys.

"That's so strange," Sir Charles murmured. "They tied Jennings' boy to a tree not but three days ago for asking what was wrong with Caelyn's eyes. Left him there until after supper."

"Who tied him up?"

"The Doves," Andrew said absently. "They've got their own court and laws. Much harsher than ours. Ryan wanted to set him on fire, but Wren said that Caelyn would never do such a thing."

Wren had actually said, _Caelyn wouldn't do that with the fire. Not yet. _But Andrew knew that not.

"When was this?" Demetrius frowned in thought.

"Ha. A barbeque. We tried to invite you, but Maria couldn't find either of you." Charles snorted. "Darius told us not to worry, you'd be back to present the plans. And so you are."

"So I am," Demetrius said quietly. He was trying to recall where exactly he'd been three days ago. The plans had taken up so much of his time, Caelyn the rest of it — "What day is it?"

"The thirteenth day of the second month of springtide," Andrew said, swatting a mosquito.

Demetrius' eyes widened. "I — Caelyn and I were camping in the woods. But I thought that was only for a few days."

"And?" Charles looked at him, bemused.

Demetrius sat back, shaking his head. The days had blended into a mellow cycle of waking and sleeping, reading and writing. Bacon frying over the campfire, jars of fireflies released at the morning's first light. Birdsong. Crickets. And of course his Dove. His pale green eyes — pale as the forest's evening fog — watching Demetrius' every move.

When the Tactician's hand finally cramped — what day was that? — Caelyn gently took his charcoal pencil.

_I can take the notes, master. _

_ Oh,_ he said halfheartedly._ I'd rather you enjoy yourself. _

_ Then let me take them. _

_ Very well. _He began to dictate, thankful for the boy's help. He paused. _Are you alright? _

_ I actually like this very much. _Caelyn smiled shyly. _The lack of light forces you to quit working early. I — I know it's selfish to want your time, sir._

_ Selfish? _Demetrius sighed. _Believe me, child. I wish you could have more of my time._

_ Noxus needs it. _

_Noxus will live, my love. I hope. _

_ Aye. With you at its helm, it will thrive. _The utter surety in the boy's voice filled Demetrius with relief. This was, as he'd thought earlier, the largest strike he'd ever engineered. He was nervous. Caelyn was not. Not about this, at least. They fell asleep beneath the moon, Caelyn's cheek pressed against his chest.

"I'm missing about — three and a half weeks, is it? Three weeks where I lost all sense of time. And I thought only a day had passed between his birthday and yesterday." Demetrius swallowed hard. "That's not good."

"No, not terribly." Charles dug a cigar from his pocket and lit it. He looked away. "You know, Demetrius, being alone with Caelyn all the time at Falin Manor isn't terribly healthy." He paused. "Then again, neither is strapping on armor and shouting _For Noxus _while running straight at a bunch of angry blonde men. Guess I've got no room to talk."

"Don't you ever want to go out?" Andrew peered at him. "Truly?"

"I — no. No, I suppose not." Demetrius laughed nervously. There was nothing more he desired than to plan the war and be with his boy on their land. "I'm perfectly content."

The brothers White exchanged glances.

"Did Jennings ever punish his boy for the cake?" Charles asked suddenly. "Or has he given up on trying?"

"He said his arm hurts too much to beat the stupid out of his boy." Andrew grinned.

"The cake?" Demetrius shook his head. "My gods, I've been so immersed in all things Demacia that I haven't a clue what's going on."

"Jennings' boy fucking up, as usual," Andrew muttered. "Jennings was hosting Swain's girl Cressida and Degardo's wedding — though I guess she's not Swain's girl anymore, eh? And the boy forgot entirely to make the cake."

"Wait — Cressida." Demetrius cocked his head. "They're not engaged anymore? She and Jericho?"

"Nope. He released her from the betrothal." Charles leaned forward. "They say she can walk between worlds and that she's waiting for a man named Skylan to win the Fleshing, to give him a better fucking than Katarina du Couteau. There's also the fact that she hasn't aged in twenty-six years. But we don't ask about that."

There was a pause. Demetrius could hear the bees leisurely pollinating the blossoms around them. He spotted two deer walking the perimeter of the woodline, a doe and her fawn. Caelyn saw them too, he noticed. The boy was tracking them with his eyes, smiling slightly.

_Ah. Just as wonderful a sight as the hummingbirds and roses, _Demetrius thought, then coughed. "For Noxus."

"Yes, that deserves a 'For Noxus.'" Sir Charles and Andrew clinked their coffee mugs together. _For Noxus _was what anyone said when they didn't have a reply to something.

For instance — when a snickering Lord Darius had announced to his Generals that one of the Comet Division had detonated fifty-percent of all Demacia's explosives on accident, there had been a chorus of _For Noxus's_. What did one say to something that utterly stupid? It was almost as bad as Jennings' boy. Almost.

"So what's this about worship, again?"

"Oh, yes. Saint Caelyn. They say he's the Hero of the Doves — or, rather, hero-to-be." Andrew feigned seriousness. "Like any great religion, it's got two sides and a deep schism. Ryan's in charge of the boys who claim he's a hero already. Wren says no, that he hasn't done anything of note yet. Luckily, they all agree that it'll be sorted out soon enough." He paused. "You really haven't heard? Caelyn is yours, after all."

"Not a whisper."

"It'll be sorted as the Wheel turns." Charles' voice was quieter. "The boys all say that they can't worship the Demacian Battle Saints because they kill their beloveds."

"Beloveds." Demetrius' eyebrows rose. "Is that —"

"That's what they call us." Andrew grinned. "Sweet enough to make you sick, isn't it?"

"Where the hell have I been?" Demetrius wondered. He saw Caelyn look up, then down at his book, biting his lip.

Charles swatted him. "Locked up in Falin Manor with your Dove. It's a house, not a birdcage. You've not been out on the town for over two months now."

"Why are you keeping track? Are you gathering intelligence?"

"He and I have a bet," Andrew coughed. "I say you don't go out for another six. The strategy talks don't count."

"Where was I?" Charles yawned. "They can't worship the Demacians, so Saint Caelyn will be their battle saint. Not Noxus' — oh, gods no. Theirs. The Willow-Doves."

Demetrius watched two hummingbirds sip the red liquid from the feeder. Wind chimes sang softly. "Is there — is there anything else?"

"I don't remember much. I was drunk when Charles finally made Ryan talk." Demetrius flinched. "— by tickling him and threatening no dessert for a week. Gods, Demetrius. You know we don't beat them."

"I apologize."

"I remember," Charles White rumbled. "But only because the _famed Noxian author_ Casteel White was taking notes." His voice was mildly sarcastic. "He comes home to see his brothers and ends up staying up all night to talk with their boys. Said he was going to include the lore in the next _Songs of Noxus. _In the folktale section."

_Caelyn? In the _Songs of Noxus? Demetrius felt a chill. For some reason, the idea deeply disturbed him. He didn't know that Caelyn was destined to be the subject and object of countless poems, plays, movies, an opera and artworks.

Charles White continued. "Saint Caelyn is their angel, their protector, champion of children. The Silver Blade of Noxus, Fallen Swordsman."

"Wh — he's never even touched a sword!"

"They say he'll slay thousands Eagles every year he fights. By himself." Andrew shrugged. "He'll avenge every lost beloved, kill until the streets of Demacia run red with blood and flood with tears of anguish."

Demetrius glanced at Caelyn once more. He was gently stroking Ryan's hair as he turned the pages of his book. Wren was asleep on his shoulder.

"Good almighty gods," he said under his breath. "What in hell?"

"That's the prophecy." Charles was also watching the boys. "Then there's the matter of you, too."

"Me?" Demetrius gaped.

"Aye. You're too holy —"

Demetrius flinched so hard he almost upset his chair.

Charles looked at him strangely, but didn't comment. "— to be touched. Haven't you noticed?"

Demetrius started to say no, then realized he had. The Doves craved affection from every man who wore the silver crest of Generalship in Noxus. He'd even once seen Jennings' boy nuzzle the hand of Lord Darius himself, flashing his charming grin when the man looked down at him in utter confusion.

Of course, Jennings' boy was not the brightest, by any means. Gods, no. But Demetrius realized that Lord Darius had been approached and he had not.

"They really don't come near me, do they? Ryan and Wren — I thought it was because I looked frightening." The two brothers roared laughter, and Demetrius blushed. "To the Doves, I meant. Because I'm so tall."

"You couldn't scare a kitten, Mr. Falin." Charles snorted and wiped tears from his eyes. "The Doves worship you partly because you understand them."

Demetrius scoffed. "That's wonderfully interesting, considering my boy has a cult about him and I had no clue."

"No, no. Not that." Andrew nodded. "You're as strange as they are."

Maybe it was true — he was often the only one who laughed at their jokes. Demetrius sighed. "Why else?"

"You know how the Lines work." Sir Andrew's eyes widened in mock awe. "So you know how the Wheel works."

"Just what is this godsdamned Wheel? The one from the Freljord creation myth?"

"The very same. They're not shy of borrowing from other religions." Charles tapped his chin. "I actually think it's all very creative."

"And what the hell are the Lines? Oh — oh, wait. Nevermind. I know which lines." He sighed again, slouching. Just last night, he'd heard Caelyn murmur _the lines look very nice this time_ as he traced the finished battle plans. "So. They worship the plans."

"Aye. And you, because you keep their beloveds safe."

Demetrius felt his face flush.

"No pressure," Andrew added.

"Oh, not in the slightest," Demetrius muttered.

* * *

"What are you doing, child of mine?"

Caelyn flinched backwards and almost stumbled. He'd been polishing the silver buckles on his gray waistcoat, checking them continually in his master's boudoir mirror to make sure they shone. But he'd gotten distracted.

_I'm so ugly. _He stared into the mirror, fascinated and sickened. His eyes were pale as frost, his lips thin. And his freckles — he hated them. _So ugly for him. _

Demetrius' reflection joined his, green eyes meeting his in the mirror. Master was in his dress-down armor, boots laced up tight.

Demetrius was already much larger than Caelyn, but in the night-colors of Noxus, he looked like a god. His black breastplate was twice the breadth of twelve-year-old Caelyn's chest. The boy didn't even reach his collarbone. He was a fragile shadow of the man.

Caelyn fought his trembling. He couldn't stop his tiny gasp when the Tactician's gloved hands settled on his thin shoulders.

"Wishing your eyes were blue again?"

"I…yes, sir."

Demetrius lifted his chin with two fingers and forced Caelyn to look him in the face. Caelyn held his gaze, then began to squirm. His master's eyes were so beautiful — beneath their forest-tinted regard, Caelyn felt even uglier. He wanted to burrow into the earth.

"Sir, please."

"Aren't you the one who always insists you're here to do my bidding?"

Caelyn's cheeks flushed painfully. A slight smile quirked one side of Demetrius' mouth.

"Yes."

"Then let me look at you."

Along with his armor, Demetrius was wearing the same detached, distant look all the Generals did when they were in uniform. They looked less like people and more like the stone statues adorning the dark, ancient temples clinging to the fringes of the city.

Caelyn bit his lip as Demetrius' thumb traced his cheekbone. It should've felt good. _But I'm so ugly. Oh, gods, why? _

Then his master bent down and whispered, "Be careful tonight."

Caelyn pulled away, wide-eyed. "Of what?"

"Shh. The first ones are here already. Listen." Demetrius tilted his head. "Can you hear them?"

Caelyn could. He heard the low rumble of the Generals settling into his and Demetrius' dining room. His skin tightened all over his body. _Intruders. _

"Oh, don't look like that. I didn't mean to scare you. Gracious." The mask Demetrius was wearing slipped a bit, letting a glimpse of his natural humor through. "Unfortunately we can't kick them out. They have to be here tonight. I'm hosting the talks. But listen, child."

"I hear thee well, sir."

Demetrius sighed, started to say something, then stopped. "Never mind your odd phrasing now. I'm not certain what's happening, or what sort of game they're playing, but be wary." He leaned even nearer to Caelyn. The boy resisted his conflicting urges to throw his arms around Demetrius' neck and to flee. "Generals Jericho and Darius never move without a plan. I just hope that plan doesn't concern you and I."

"Are you in danger? I'll — I'll protect you however I can." Caelyn swallowed, thinking of how large Darius was. But it wouldn't matter, not if he threatened Demetrius.

Demetrius examined the boy's tiny frame. "Wh — Caelyn. You don't have to protect me. Please don't think that. Ever."

"But I would, sir." Caelyn crept forward, reaching for Demetrius' hand, forgetting his fear entirely. "Of course I would. It's the least I could do. Believe me."

"I — never mind. There's no time. We'll most likely be fine, but tonight I've got to be a bit more distant from you. For safety's sake. It doesn't mean I'm angry. Alright?"

"I would never question you, sir."

"I know." Demetrius closed his eyes. "Sometimes I wish you would."

"You always know best." Caelyn's face held not a trace of doubt.

"I wish that were true." Demetrius looked away, then patted Caelyn's back in an imitation of the way the other Generals treated their Doves. "Go help in the kitchens, lad."

"Yes, sir." He smiled bravely and was rewarded with a smile in return. Inside he was terrified, but that was nothing new.

He didn't know that, this night, he had reason to be.

"He breaks my heart every single day," Demetrius murmured to himself, then looked in the mirror. "Ha. Can't let that one slip tonight."

He wasn't certain what, precisely, Jericho and Darius thought they were doing. None of the Generals — not even Charles and Andrew — would talk to Demetrius about why they now moved from manor to manor, holding their strategy talks at a different location every week and a half — something so strange it had to serve a purpose.

On one hand, it was fascinating to see the way the other Generals ran their households. On the other, though he thoroughly enjoyed his job, it was irritating to have to lug his plans from end to end of Noxus.

At least the Willow-Doves enjoyed themselves. They all helped one another in the kitchen before the talks. Demetrius thought it rather charming, as did all the other Generals, to see the small army of dapper blondes scurrying to and fro, murmuring in one another's ears. They had their own secret sign language, their own customs.

After the first blue-eyes fit, Demetrius asked cautiously, _How do the other boys treat you? _

_ Hmm? Very well, sir. _

Demetrius watched to make sure. Caelyn was leaner than them, with different-colored hair. And of course there were his eyes. The Tactician was almost positive they were teasing him.

But it seemed instead that Caelyn was some sort of good luck charm. It wasn't terribly surprising, considering how superstitious most of the Doves were. The boys would go out of their way to touch him. They clung to him.

_...and worship him, apparently. _

Caelyn's obsession with his eyes, like the rest of his thoughts, were purely his own.

Now that it was his turn to host the talks, Demetrius should've felt relief. Instead, though he was looking forward to presenting his battle plans, the Tactician felt the same vague unease he was sure Caelyn did whenever they had visitors. He had actually heard the boy hiss the word _intruders _when he had Generals Charles and Andrew White over for tea two days ago.

_Never mind all that. I've got to be strong for him. _So thinking, he checked his expression once more in the mirror.

Perfect.

The Wheel turned, dragging Caelyn's hands ever nearer to crushing them. And the talks began.

* * *

Swain stopped outside the large bronze doors. The manor wasn't large, but was well-tended. Blue and black roses bloomed by the entryway. "You two can't fail me. If Falin turns, it will be far worse than Stephens. The Legion will consume us."

"Yes, sir," she and Darius said simultaneously. Kat adjusted her breasts.

"Careful," Darius muttered into her ear. "He doesn't need to see your nipples just yet."

She grinned and followed him inside. She was immediately wrapped in a veil of sweet cigar smoke. She smiled broadly as the Generals' dark eyes turned to her appraisingly, drinking in the black stones on her earrings, the green satin. They nodded and whispered to one another, ringed around a glossy darkwood table.

The Willow-Doves bustled to and fro, carrying dishes stacked high with dark chocolate strawberries and red-velvet cake. Their golden hair was perfectly combed, their jackets and collars pressed. Kat watched them take her in with a quick glance at her then away. Any more and their masters might beat them for being rude.

The wine glasses sparkled in the oil-lamp light. The candles on the table wavered. The Generals' black boots shone.

If the Noxians fell, at least they would do so knowing how to have strategy talks in style.

After she, Swain and Darius took their seats, the bottles of red wine were passed around the table — the unspoken courtesy was that they all shared the same ones. Easier to prevent poisoning that way.

Some of the servant boys still tasted the desserts before the Generals — there was courtesy, then stupidity. Kat watched one blonde devour half a slice of his master's cheesecake while he wasn't looking, then smile innocently when he turned back towards him. After a moment, the General grinned and shook his head.

"Hell of a tasting, Ethan."

"Poison could be in the very back, sir."

"True. In that case, you can have it." He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.

She watched four or five of the blondes straighten each other's bowties with solemn faces, then polish each other's shoes silently. Their rituals were just as strange and unknowable as Demetrius himself.

And Darius and Kat watched their host intently, struggling to hear him speak over the rumble of low voices and strains of cello music issuing from the phonograph. Demetrius' mannerisms were perfectly Noxian, but not too perfect. He drank just as much wine as the rest of them, patted the other Generals' boys on the back, and generally appeared well at ease.

_Is it possible for him not to have a weakness? _Kat wondered, stirring her wine with the tip of her finger. She caught General Rowan and General Isaacs staring at her and murmuring like schoolboys. Their weaknesses were their prize-winning zinnias and an antique telescope, respectively. At least she'd gotten to fuck both of them. She waited until Swain wasn't looking and stuck her tongue out. They chuckled.

Demetrius' boy appeared right before the talks actually began, tugging nervously at his scarlet tie. He was wearing a gorgeous, well-tailored black waistcoat with bright silver buckles. Katarina strained to hear him speak, but was partially distracted by Degardo catcalling her.

By the time the Doves came out bearing dessert and wine, Demetrius was very tired. Caelyn appeared by his side without a whisper and bowed deeply.

His teeth clicked together softly, but only Demetrius would've noticed. "Do you need anything else, sir?"

"Hmm." Demetrius tapped his fingers against his chin, examining the boy without looking directly at him. He saw the panic rising in Caelyn's eyes and wasn't terribly surprised — the talks hadn't even begun yet, and it was past both of their usual bedtimes. Usually they were asleep, entwined, before the clock struck nine.

He couldn't very well let the child out of his sight, could he? Not after seeing his earlier hatred for his reflection. He looked like he wanted to reach through the silvery glass and strangle himself.

And he saw Darius and Katarina gazing at the pair of them intently, murmuring to one another. The skin on his arms prickled. _Gods, what game is this? What do they want from us? _Then he looked at Caelyn's scared face. _Ah, well. No one ever said keeping a Dove was easy. _

He made a decision he would regret for the rest of his life.

"Hmm. Can you return and act as scribe for me? I'd rather not take the notes tonight."

"Y - y - you want me to take them _for _you?"

"Is that a problem?" He sounded stern, but wanted nothing more than to take the boy into his arms.

The boy straightened his shoulders. His pale eyelashes fluttered. "N - n - n -"

Demetrius waited patiently. The boy swallowed hard and shook his head, sending his blonde locks flying.

"No problem, sir. I won't fail you."

"I know." _You never have, _Demetrius wanted to say, but Katarina's ear was still tilted towards them. He settled for stroking the blonde's hair, ignoring the boy's wince. Then he returned to mocking the Demacians' Morale Day.

Katarina watched Demetrius say cheerfully, "Did you see the pathetic pictures they were touting as art?"

"I've taken shits with more character," General Degardo boomed, and the entire table roared laughter. Including, annoyingly, Demetrius. Nothing seemed to faze him.

Degardo's weakness was a phobia — a surprisingly rare weakness, actually — of needles. Kat had hit on it on accident by offering to show him her tattoos. No one knew of his Willow-Dove molestation save Demetrius, the Generals White, Rowan and Isaacs. The High Command of Noxus thought needles were his softest spot, but they were wrong. Ta - aikah.

Swain waited for the merriment to subside, then said, "Settle down, children. We have a war to win."

"There's a war going on? I thought this was just a dinner party," General Isaacs murmured. A quieter round of laughter.

The Willow-Doves took up position on their masters' laps. Most of them dozed off. Kat watched General Rowan idly rub his boy's dessert-stuffed stomach until the child's eyes closed.

Demetrius ordered the table cleared. The usual household servants did so, not daring to look any of the men in the eyes. Demetrius' boy bumped into one of them — the one-eyed woman almost scolded him, glanced at the General, and stopped.

"What's yours' name again? I disremember." General Cawdor asked, tugging on Demetrius' sleeve. Katarina realized that Cawdor's eyes held more greed than usual and took a closer look at Demetrius' boy.

"That's a weird-looking one, isn't it?" she murmured to Darius.

"Aye."

All the boys were handsome, but there was something different about the one sitting nervously beside Demetrius, fiddling with his charcoal pencil.

"Caelyn," Demetrius said, his voice filled with the faint pride the knights and Generals all had when they spoke of their boys. He ruffled the boy's hair. Caelyn winced, and Kat cocked her head.

Wincing was considered incredibly rude and often led to beatings later. The children were conditioned to respond only with affection when their masters touched them.

But Demetrius didn't seem to notice the boy's discourtesy. Kat was openly staring now, trying to figure out the difference. Caelyn was a bit more lithe than the others, and his jaw was stronger — most of the Generals favored boys with rounder cheeks. There was a smattering of freckles on his nose.

"I'm missing it. It's obvious and I'm missing it."

"His eyes," Darius muttered into his wine glass.

_Oh. _She just took the sweet sky-blue eyes of every boy for granted. Caelyn's were a pale jade green that looked almost colorless by the oil lamps. A birth defect, in Demacia's view. "That's kinda creepy."

"Demetrius doesn't think so," Darius said softly. He put his warm arm around her bare shoulders, and she leaned into him. People were less likely to watch them if they thought he and Katarina were talking intimately.

As for Demetrius, having Caelyn by his side was comforting — for both of them, Demetrius hoped. Now that he knew for certain the boy wasn't hurting himself, he felt himself sink safely into Tactician mode.

Though he thought war was a game, it was still his passion. He loved every part of planning the battles — from gathering intelligence to drawing the maps. It was deeply, deeply satisfying. Being one of the highest ranked men in Noxus was a mere side-effect.

The other Generals often teased him for being a homebody. He rarely went out, preferring to spend his time reading and planning in Caelyn's quiet company. He loved tactics almost as much as he loved Caelyn — almost.

As he gestured over the maps, he felt like he was standing outside himself, watching his grand movements, hearing his voice boom over the sketched mountains and glossy expanse of the darkwood dining table.

It took all of his willpower to keep his gaze from the boy beside him, to keep it switching steadily from one General's studious face to the next as the candles burned lower and lower.

This was the first time the Doves — including Caelyn — had been present for the talks, Demetrius noted. Usually the whole of them hid away in an unused room. At the end of the night the Generals often found them sleeping in clusters, huddling for warmth.

Tonight, they were all seated calmly on the Generals' laps, silent and unmoving, save for closing their eyes in pleasure when their masters absently stroked their golden hair. Their blue eyes sparkled like lakes in summertide — he could see why Caelyn envied their beauty.

But Demetrius liked Caelyn's eyes more. Were they full of admiration for the work of his master? Did he care about the war at all, or was he too consumed by the one inside of him? Did he even understand it? He was a bright child, yes, learned in oratory, astronomy and literature, but —

_Curiosity can wait. _

He walked the men through the plans he'd drafted without a stutter. When they nodded thoughtfully, he sighed internally with relief. It would be over soon and he and Caelyn could rest. In his mind, he was already changing out of his armor into loose pajamas. Fixing both of them hot chocolate. Showering and coming back to find Caelyn sleeping, curled up on his striped pillow like a cat.

Maybe the boy wouldn't have nightmares tonight. It wasn't likely, but Demetrius was a man of eternal hope.

Then he saw Caelyn bite down hard on the back of his hand and froze. His simple, peaceful daydreams abruptly popped like soap bubbles.

_Oh. Oh, no. _

Without turning his head, Demetrius gently freed the flesh from the boy's teeth. The Dove didn't resist.

The Generals' eyes all tracked his movements suspiciously. Demetrius felt his soul solidify into a single prayer, sent desperately through the night-black windows, soaring past the shoulders of the men and boys around him. _Please. Please, gods above and below. Leave him alone. _

It was too late. Caelyn Falin's fate was decided. Ta - aikah.

Jericho Swain squinted. "Speak, boy. This isn't Demacia. If we see something wrong, we fix it."

Demetrius heard his Dove's quick, fluttery intake of breath. Caelyn shook his head, backing away. The Tactician saw the other boys exchange worried glances — they were waiting for him to strike Caelyn, bracing themselves for the inevitable blow.

_I would never hit him._

It was a policy Demetrius would have to revise, the way he often revised his war plans, but at that moment he knew it not.

Swain's beady eyes narrowed even more, burning directly into Caelyn's. "I told you to speak."

The boy's pale eyes widened, but he remained silent. The Tactician swallowed hard and waited for the awkward pause to pass, then saw that it wasn't going to. Darius, Katarina and Swain were all leering at the boy.

Caelyn would talk. There was no other option.

He took a deep breath and rested a hand on the back of the boy's neck, trying not to flinch when Caelyn did. "Go on, Caelyn. I'm waiting."

"Right here." He snatched the pointer from Demetrius' hand. His voice had a strange authority to it, though it wasn't done changing by any means. "This ridge. We were assaulted by Eagle and Hawk thirty campaigns ago and lost four-thousand men. If we have Char - Gen - "

"Slow down," Demetrius murmured. His heart was beating faster. _He understands? Why didn't he tell me? _

Caelyn glanced at him and took a shuddering breath. "General Charles White's division will be vulnerable to flanking if we leave him without coverage. There's a base here —" The pointer snapped. "— where they keep half the Robin Division, about five-thousand to White's four-thousand fifty. The Robins will take this path to meet their other forces, most likely around the same time our troops are moving, if we calculate the usual Demacian travel times and where our men are headed for assembly. Over the ridge. I think - well - maybe —"

Demetrius' eyes widened. _What on earth? He hasn't even expressed interest outside of flipping through the plans at night — how in hell — he has to have retained so much intelligence to understand that. I didn't even notice that mistake — not at all. _

"The problem isn't the clash between White and the Robins. General Charles White's bravery in battle ensures his victory. His soldiers are far more trained, superior to the Demacians in every way. As are all of our men superior to every Demacian that walks the earth."

Caelyn's voice grew stronger, fervent with ardent belief. His ashen eyes gleamed. Charles White blushed. The Doves began to whisper excitedly.

"The true problem is the tactical unity of our forces. At the very least, White will have to pause to crush the Robins' skulls beneath his heel, though they aren't worthy of his time."

_I simply can't believe it, _Demetrius thought distantly. The Generals and their Doves were all captivated by the skinny waif, his strange eyes and bold voice. _My gods. He's brilliant. My Caelyn._

Caelyn looked out at them all, standing up straight without a single quiver. This strong-voiced boy was almost unrecognizable. "This, in turn, will cause a delay in our final strike, most likely between four and six hours, as demonstrated by the past skirmishes between forces of similar sizes. Such as that of the battle of Red Marsh, Demacians led by Garen Crownguard, Noxians led by General Vincent Degardo, around last autumntide. It will be eight hours if we allow for the messengers to travel from the ridge to our main forces. The Demacians will have time to gather themselves, even with their dull wits. Their channels of communication are nearer their potential messengers — it would take only about two hours for their messages to be relayed. Thus, they'll know we're coming." The pointer popped again. "This extra time will allow them to fortify the walls of their pitiful citadel. We can overcome them, most assuredly, but even the m — m — best of our men may —"

Demetrius saw Caelyn's lips tremble and yearned to comfort him. _You've done so well, _he wanted to say. _See? You're extraordinary in so many ways. My gods. My gods, you're wonderful. Please believe me. _But Demetrius could say nothing at the moment — there were too many people present.

The boy had been looking the Generals in the face, trying to imitate his master, but his courage faltered. He suddenly collapsed into his chair with a shudder, wild-eyed and shivering and silent. Demetrius knew the boy wanted to bury his face in the prime Tactician's side and couldn't. Godsdamned Kat and Darius.

Silence.

"He's exactly right." Swain looked at his Generals sternly. "We'll need to stop serving wine if the boys became better Tacticians than the fifty of you."

Their cheeks flushed. Kat noticed that even Darius was blushing lightly. Demetrius was biting his lip and looking at the ground. Caelyn flinched. "Master, I'm sor —"

He cut him off with a small shake of his head. "Don't apologize."

"Aye. Don't." Charles White smiled warmly at the boy, who cringed even farther into his chair. "You just saved my life."

Swain made them go through the plans more thoroughly, but there were no other mistakes. The planned strike was so enormous that Kat wasn't surprised none of them noticed the tiny hole in their forces.

When the other Generals began to shake Demetrius' hand and thank him for the hospitality, Swain turned to her and Darius expectantly.

"I have nothing," Darius sighed.

Kat sighed with him. "I guess — maybe his boy? But that's how they all treat th —"

"Shhh." Swain cut her off. "Listen."

Through the cluster of weary Generals, Kat saw Demetrius' bright smile. "That was truly amazing. My gods, what have you been reading?"

"It's just from listening to you, sir. Here are the notes." Caelyn's strange eyes didn't leave Demetrius' face for an instant. Kat could actually see the pulse thudding in his thin neck as his master flipped through them. _What the hell is going on here? _

Demetrius noticed Caelyn wasn't hiding his face for once. He was overwhelmed with a tide of adoration just as bright as his earlier pride. "Flawless. Perfect penmanship. Spelling. I will never understand." He looked at the boy, struggling to restrain his affection. He wanted so badly to let him know how wonderful he was. "How are the books coming?"

"Finished them all, sir. But you don't have to buy me new ones," he added hastily. "I'm sure I can add more notes and should probably read them again. Thank you for them. Honestly, I -"

Demetrius tenderly led Caelyn's hand away from his cheek, where he was tearing at his skin again. "I planned on getting you more, anyways. I got a hold of the booklist for Brightbridge this year. It's for the oldest boys, but —"

"Brightbridge?" Caelyn's chest heaved. "I don't —"

"I guarantee you'll understand them. You're just as bright as any Brightbridge boy." He couldn't stop himself — he took Caelyn's hands in his own. Some dim part of his mind knew that Katarina and Darius were still across the table, but didn't think they were watching him, or didn't care.

The boy's eyes filled with weary pain. "I — no. Thank you, sir, but no. I'm stupid. That was luck."

Demetrius shook his head. "Oh, please. After what you did tonight? That sounded like Casteel White's _On the Art of War. _You hurt my heart when you say things like that, Caelyn." The boy's eyes shifted to his, surprised and panicked.

"I — I'm hurting you, master?"

Demetrius had his Willow-Dove's full attention — maybe he could help Caelyn love himself at last. He could help. So the Tactician unthinkingly pressed on. "Aye. It hurts to know that you hate yourself. If there's anything I could ever ask of you, it's to stop thinking that way. You've a beautiful mind, you know? So beautiful. Just like the rest of you."

He was so captivated that he didn't even notice Darius, Kat and Swain staring at him, though some of the other Generals did. Isaacs and Rowan exchanged knowing glances before heading out into the night.

"He just fucked up." Darius' voice was deeply satisfied.

"Oh, yeah. Big time," Kat said. She didn't have to look at Swain to know that his eyebrows — or remnants of them — were politely raised. This was the first General to have a living person as a weakness. "This is gonna get ugly."

And because she was Katarina du Couteau, she was excited.

Caelyn breathed slowly. The startled affection on his face made Demetrius' heart feel like it was going to burst. "T - thank you, sir."

"Thank you for being mine." Demetrius kissed Caelyn's hands, one after the other.

And the boy actually smiled.

Then the Tactician looked across the table and saw the eyes of Katarina, Darius and Swain fixed on the two of them, and the moment was irrevocably gone. The trio was making no move to leave. Katarina's crimson lips were curved in a smile that was equal parts triumph and unholy excitement. Darius' eyebrows were raised politely. Swain's face was set in stone.

Demetrius had heard the phrase _my blood ran cold _many times before. It had never happened to him before — war did not fill him with fear. But the sight of those Generals watching Demetrius' Willow-Dove did more than make the Tactician's blood cold. Demetrius' viscera turned to icebergs, his veins to icicles.

He glanced once more at Caelyn. _I told him we had to be careful. I told him, and then I wasn't. _

He forced himself to remain calm. It wasn't easy. Caelyn, too, sensed something amiss — the flutter of his eyelashes told the Tactician so. Demetrius could read his boy, even through the tics and constant anxiety.

They shared a brief moment of perfect understanding, dark-green eyes to silvery-green ones.

Then the Wheel turned.

"More wine for our guests, please, Caelyn." He handed the boy four glasses.

"Aye, sir." His voice was husky.

Soon he and Caelyn could be alone. Demetrius could smother the boy with the love he knew Caelyn deserved, and talk of tactics and diagrams until the sun came up.

But first, the Generals of Noxus and their pet whore.

_After he brings the wine, I'll send him to our room. He'll be safe there. _

He turned to the only men in Noxus who outranked him and said politely, "You three are more than welcome to stay the night." He smiled. "I'll make sure none disturb you."

Darius waited until Caelyn was far enough down the hall for Demetrius to think he was gone, then said, "Good lord, Demetrius. What do you do to him?"

They watched Caelyn halt, wine glasses in hand, in the hallway behind the Tactician. Listening.

"I — I beg your pardon?"

"Your boy." Katarina's lips pressed together. "I've never seen a boy act like that before. So — disrespectfully."

"Ah, yes." Demetrius' smile wavered. "I apologize for that, General Swain. But I assure you I don't hurt him."

"He seems fairly anxious, for you never having touched him." Darius idly nibbled his nails. "You've got to be doing something to him."

Katarina nodded and took a sip of her wine. "I thought you were classier than that. Generals aren't supposed to torture their boys."

The glasses in Caelyn's hands rattled together softly.

Demetrius heard it not. He suddenly knew deep within his bones that this was the same as Caelyn's outburst earlier. The Tactician would talk. There was no other option.

He coughed. "Ha. I truly haven't lain a hand on him. No clue what the orphanage did to him, but it wasn't pretty."

"So he's naturally that high strung?" Darius blinked. "You know they'll take them back, right? The orphanages will take him back?"

_Oh, gods. Oh, please don't let him hear this. _Demetrius found himself praying again — he wasn't a religious man — that the child's return from the kitchen would be delayed. But Caelyn was listening, though Demetrius knew it not.

The Tactician swallowed. "Will they really?"

"Oh, yeah." Katarina grinned lazily. "Especially if you get one that acts like that. After everything you've done for him, he still flinches when you touch him? I've seen sergeants' boys act better."

Demetrius' heart began, once more, to beat faster. But the sensation was no longer pleasurable. _Are they — surely they won't hurt him. What on earth? The Noxians all love the Doves. _

"They practically have to exchange him," Darius agreed, eyeing the Tactician. "They don't want us to raid them for selling rejects."

Demetrius heard Caelyn's voice in his memory: _Sir, you really do deserve a better boy. An actual Dove, like Ryan. For someone as good as you. I don't deserve you, master. I'm — I'm not whole. _

"Honestly," Darius laughed. Katarina's green eyes gleamed. "Trying to pawn off one with the wrong color eyes — what have the orphanages come to these days, selling such useless children? Where have their morals gone?"

_He's not useless. And his eyes are the right color. They're beautiful, _Demetrius almost said. He restrained himself. He felt like he was living a nightmare — the transition from joy to fear was so quick it seemed surreal.

Caelyn's voice in his head: _I just wanted my eyes to be blue for you. So they'd be pretty, sir._

_Please, _Demetrius prayed. _Please let him not hear any of this. He was just so happy a moment ago. So happy. It's so hard for him to be happy. _

"How much did you pay for him, by the bye?" Swain asked suddenly.

Demetrius laughed, but knew it sounded nervous. "Oh, I truly don't think of it like that. It's much closer to a partnership. He helps me with my housework, with the animals."

"Might not be how you think of it, but it's still how it is." Katarina lazily twirled a strand of red hair around her finger. "You ashamed of how badly you got gypped? It's alright. I would be too."

Kat heard Caelyn's quiet, painful gasp even though Demetrius didn't. The excitement continued to build in her body. She sometimes thought it was sexual, but it was really power. The sweet, rich, decadent thrill of power that came from high status in Noxus.

Demetrius' jaw almost dropped. He recovered, but realized he was shaking slightly. Shaking like Caelyn sometimes did.

He steadied himself. "Madam du Couteau. Sirs. I'm terribly sorry if I did anything to incur your bad will. I'll make sure my hospitality is better up to your standards next —"

Darius glared at him. "Answer the question."

Demetrius laughed in amazement. "Is that an order? Is this Demacia now? Do you want a breakdown of my household's expenses? Shall I tally them up alongside our yearly budget?"

"Answer the question," Swain snapped. "Don't be like your worthless boy."

_Fine. I'll give them what they want, if it will make them go away. _He took a deep breath. "Forty-thousand."

The others' eyes widened. Darius swore beneath his breath. The average price for a boy — a handsome, intelligent one, anyways — was fifteen-thousand. And Kat had never heard anything above nineteen. _Forty grand? This man's insane._

"Are we really paying you that well?" Swain wondered mildly, tapping his fingernails against the darkwood table. The candles were now little more than stumps weeping wax. The wavering shadows painted the High General's craggy face in stark relief. "We'll have to look into that."

Demetrius took a deep breath. "So, are you three satisfied now? I truly am sorry for any — breach."

Darius leaned forward, and Demetrius' jaw clenched. "Not so much satisfied as confused. He's got to give head like a god. Or at least I'd hope so."

_Another conversation. "No, Caelyn. Gods, child. That isn't why I got you. You owe me nothing like that." _

"_The other boys say it makes you more certain to be kept." _

Never mind the fact that neither Caelyn nor Demetrius could name a single boy who had been taken back. The acquisition of a Willow-Dove was taken with utmost seriousness, and every General was willing to make the full commitment. Demetrius was convinced that no children had ever been returned.

"_Maybe — perhaps when you're older, but that's not really how I think of —" "Is it because I'm not attractive enough? Don't you want me?" "You're going to be the death of me, child. You know that?" "Don't say that, sir. I beg of you." A pause. "Please? I'm just trying to be nice for —" "Then go to sleep and stop worrying." _

In the present, Demetrius threw back his head and laughed. He thought he felt a tear form in the corner of his eye. "Is that what I'm supposed to be doing with him?"

_He's so much more than that. Oh, please. Just leave him and I alone. What have I done to you all? _

"I thought that was obvious," Kat purred, though she knew that almost none of the relationships between General and boy were sexual. She saw the first tears leak from Caelyn's peculiar eyes. He'd kept his composure for a surprisingly long time. "What else can big dark-haired men want with little blonde boys?"

_ A companion. A friend. Somewhere to pour my affection so this godsforsaken war doesn't consume my entire being like it does the Demacians. Someone to take care of, to love. Surely Charles and Andrew White — with their twin Doves Ryan and Wren — is that really what they use them for? No, I know it isn't. I know for a fact. Godsdamned lying du Couteau. No wonder my family despises yours. _

He cleared his throat. "I was under the impression that the Doves were different than chattel. I suppose I was mistaken. Happens to the best of us."

"What else did you think they got them for? Actual servants? For forty-thousand godsdamned gold pieces? You could outfit an entire armory with that, Demetrius. I thought a Tactician would have a better sense of personal budget." Darius paused. "So it's not for sex."

Demetrius bit his tongue. "Nope. Guess I fucked up there, too."

"Even more curious," Swain murmured thoughtfully. "I'll never understand mankind."

"Me neither," Kat added. "If he were cute like General Rowan's, maybe. Or General Charles White's Dove. What's his name?"

"Ryan," Demetrius said softly. "Ryan White." _This has to be a nightmare. I've wandered into one of Caelyn's nightmares. _

Kat looked at Darius. "Yeah, Ryan's cute. But forty-thousand for a mental and physical reject? That's extravagant, even for a du Couteau or Falin."

"Extravagant for anything. Even a new horse. But at least you can ride that more often than a boy." Darius cracked his knuckles. Time for the final strike. "Or at least without the horse crying and struggling so much. Though I suppose you're accustomed to the latter two, since that's your Dove's natural state."

"Is that so?" Demetrius couldn't keep the anger from his voice.

"Aye," Katarina murmured. She smirked.

He made an effort to level his tone and was almost successful. "I suppose you and I have different priorities, then."

Darius snorted. "Priorities? Fuck priorities. Why the hell would you spend forty-thousand on a hideous nervous wreck?"

Glass shattered. Demetrius whirled. The knowledge came to him in a scalding white flash — he'd been tricked. Caelyn had been there the entire time, quivering alone in the shadowy hallway, listening to his nightmares given voice. His eyes were dark. He had to be feeling horrible, Demetrius thought. Positively horrible.

Caelyn loved Noxus in the same way he loved Demetrius — reverentially. _"This country took me in, sir, when Demacia wouldn't. I'm grateful to you and it. It's almost as wonderful as you are —" Caelyn blushed. "I - if I may be so bold, of course." _

He had accidentally stumbled across Caelyn's journal entries, read them while the boy blushed against his arm. _Noxus and my master seem as inseparable as he and the spirit of Falin Manor. The sight of him fills me with as much joy as the spires of the cathedrals and the men with their Willow-Doves. _

And here was Noxus itself telling Caelyn how much it despised him. It had to hurt, especially after possibly saving thousands of its men's lives tonight.

But — it would be alright, just as it always eventually was, even if the sobbing took hours. Demetrius could help. A warm bath, a foot rub, a quiet night listening to the Noxian news and cuddling, and his Willow-Dove would be good as —

Then he saw Caelyn's hands.

_Oh. Oh gods no please. Please, his hands. No. _

The thick glass had punctured his smooth skin, impaling his palms from one side to the other. There were hundreds of rips, red-stained whitish shards peeking above and below his hands. As Demetrius watched, Caelyn ground them together in anguish, driving leftover slivers deep into the network of nerves and muscles.

_I adore his hands. I adore him. No please he already thinks he's ugly enough please he was just smiling that's the first time I've seen him smile like that in ages he was happy oh why _

Blood. It rolled down his pale arms and left streaky trails in its wake. It dripped onto his pretty waistcoat, his tie. It smeared onto the silver buckles he'd so lovingly polished. It pattered onto the darkwood floor, black-red mingling with the crystalline spray of fragments that twinkled in the low candlelight.

_I failed him, _Demetrius thought. His body felt empty and chill. He would think the same thing five years later, cradling the boy's dead body in his arms, but he knew it not.

Caelyn's eyes were the color of rainwater, aye, but also the color of his tears.

"He shouldn't have bought me," the boy whispered from the shadows, and Demetrius felt his heart begin to crack. "I don't deserve him."

"You're damn right he shouldn't have bought you!" Swain snapped. Kat and Darius recoiled away from him, surprised. "Good gods and seven hells, Demetrius. How on earth can a brilliant Tactician be so godsdamned stupid?"

Demetrius barely heard him. His eyes fixed on a sliver of glass sticking through the thin skin of Caelyn's ring finger, to the right of the bone. His fingernails were collecting beads of blood. He was hurting, and it was Demetrius' fault. _How can he possibly — how can he trust me again? _

Swain slammed the table and roared, "You're not even listening! My fourth-in-command ignores his ruler for a useless boy's hands!"

Demetrius turned to him with a feral snarl. All thought was gone, replaced by a crimson bolt of fury. "I'm not the one covertly stalking into peoples' homes trying to — to —"

"Keep Noxus safe," Darius said with false calm. His eyes, too, were transfixed by the boy's mangled hands. He looked deeply, deeply ill — his face was pale and sweating. "Look. Demetrius. One of our city-state's core beliefs is that Noxus must be purged of weakness. Having this - this hole in our defenses at the very upper echelons —"

Swain folded his arms. "I want the boy executed. I want him killed. He's a disgrace."

Caelyn gasped, deep and drowning. He fell to his hands and knees, his shoulders wracked by sobs. More shards of glass slid into his legs — his hands gave way, and his forehead pressed to the floor. Luckily there was no glass there. He was trying to say something, choking. Demetrius made out the words _love Noxus _and came within heartbeats of tearing Jericho Swain's eyes out.

Demetrius turned to Swain. His face was eerily tranquil. The stronger the General, the more expressionless they were when they hit their breaking point.

"No."

"Your high commander demands it," Darius said quietly. His voice shook.

"And I'm saying no." Demetrius' words rang throughout Falin Manor. "Absolutely not. He is my property."

_That should be more convincing than my love for him. Gods knows the government has to respect property, if not a boy's hands. _He swallowed a wave of nausea and bit his tongue._ Oh gods Caelyn I'm so sorry. _

Swain stumbled to his feet and jabbed his cane towards Demetrius' face. Demetrius didn't move. "You really think you belong in my military? What will you tell the Demacians when they make him cry? When they make him scream? What will you tell them to stop them from killing him? The entire war, one fought for eons, lost. For a servant boy. Do you really think you deserve to be a General?"

"But I love Noxus, sir," Caelyn whispered. Tears had swirled together with the blood. "I do, truly."

"Ha!" Swain's voice rose. "A false Demacian and a false Noxian, claiming to love the country his master hails from. Useless child, you don't love Noxus. You think you love the man who feeds and clothes you and keeps you as a pet. I bet you believe you're important to him, too, don't you?"

Caelyn pressed his trembling lips together, head bowed. He was trying to be brave for Demetrius. But he cried harder. His sobs were entirely silent. It was like watching a weeping ghost.

Darius and Katarina exchanged glances. They didn't look much different than the fearful ones the Doves had given one another earlier.

Demetrius got up. He wasn't shaking — his rage had burned away all of his fear. "If the army is ruled by someone who will spill a child's blood over no crime, then no. No, I don't belong here." His voice deepened and quieted. "But know this. If you remove me, I will be there to hear your screams as you die to the Demacians. They'll eat you alive."

"Really?" Darius asked quietly, still staring at Caelyn's hands. His discomfort showed on his face. He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing.

"There is a reason I'm your prime Tactician." Demetrius' eyes flashed with anger. "Our citadel stands because of me. Countless divisions live because I've maneuvered them to safety. We still stand a chance as a result of my efforts. And you know it. _You know it_."

"You dare oppose me. Endanger the fate of a nation. Over a boy." Swain's voice oozed disgust.

_A boy? Swain still thinks he's just a boy. _

Demetrius lifted his chin defiantly. "More than dare. I do oppose you. And there are others who would do the same. The others are just as fond of their boys as I."

"Bullshit." Katarina shook her head with a disparaging laugh. "They treat them like pets, not lovers."

_ Lovers? Is that it? I suppose so. _Demetrius felt his face begin to burn. "Still. Even still. Executing Ca — executing him would be — how do you usually phrase it, sir? 'In poor taste.'"

Demetrius couldn't say it. Couldn't say 'executing Caelyn.'

He ached to go to Caelyn's side, but knew that moving would mean death for both of them. The eventide silence spun out as he held Swain's dark gaze without a blink. His eyes weren't so different from Caelyn's, after all.

The only sounds were Caelyn's shallow sips of air.

_I didn't think he'd do that, _Darius thought, feeling hollow and cold. _I didn't mean to. I thought he was going to drop them. _It was like something from one of his nightmares, the ones that woke him up and made him press his face to Kat's warm shoulder, clutching for someone, anyone. The blood on that little waistcoat — how much had Demetrius paid for it? And how many times had Caelyn tried to make him take it back, saying he wasn't good enough for something so nice? _His hands. _They were bristling like alien creatures. Black blood dripped from the jagged points.

There was a strange beauty to it, Darius thought, and gagged. _It's the way the glass and blood shines. It's like ice on a lake. And his eyes are clear. Silver. The colors are wonderful. Am I still — am I still human, for thinking this? _

It was one of the many times he'd unintentionally harm Caelyn Falin. Ta - aikah.

Kat was clutching at her own hands. They felt like snakes and worms were writhing through them. Sympathy pain. It didn't happen often — couldn't, for assassins — but it was of the same sort she'd felt while breaking Garen's finger or busting a Battle Saint's knee. She rubbed her palms against her dress. Rubbed them again. The tingling refused to leave.

Her thoughts were much simpler than Darius': _holy fuck. _

At last, Jericho Swain sighed deeply. His old body seemed to settle, like the bones of an antique house.

"Darius," he said wearily. "Address the child. I can't. He's too worthless to merit my time."

Darius swallowed again. "You. Boy. Look at me."

Caelyn raised his head, still on his hands and knees. His voice was barely audible. "Yes, sir."

"What General Swain has said tonight stands true. You are one of Noxus' biggest weak points. One of your master's, too. If he has a downfall, his love for you will be the cause of it."

_Dear gods. _Demetrius resisted the urge to snap something about Jericho Swain having a Willow-Dove of his own, only his had black hair and a huge axe, and stopped himself. They would be leaving soon — he and Caelyn just had to hold on.

"Your existence places our country in jeopardy. Noxus is not your true home. Remember that. Do you understand me?"

Caelyn nodded, head still bowed. His voice was low and trembling, his face stained with blood and tears. The red was still seeping from his hands in a steady stream. "Aye, sir. I do."

Jericho got up and hobbled away. Darius and Katarina followed him without a backward glance.

The cool spring breeze felt good on her bare shoulders after the crowded room, the cigars, the candles.

Caelyn's pretty blue roses waved agreeably in the wind. It would be a long time before he could tend them without searing agony flaring in his fingers. He tended them two days later anyway.

"Fah," Swain muttered. "Figures. The one with a living weakness is our entire intelligence. The most irreplaceable part of our army. Godsdamnit. Demacian luck."

"On the bright side, sir." Darius looked at him. "He will be easy to torture if he fucks up."

Kat thought of the boy in pain and shivered. So many emotions seemed only to exist within the scarlet walls of Noxus. This one was incredibly specific — lust and sympathy, in one silvery thrill.

Swain groaned. "I should kill both of them. I know I should."

"Is it weakness if Demetrius does really well now to avoid Caelyn dying?" Kat asked.

Jericho snorted. "Maybe not. Go spy on him. I don't want to know, but I have to know how bad it is."

Kat nodded, glad to be of use. She was beginning to feel like a sex-murder machine and was tired of being Darius' arm-candy. It usually didn't bother her, but she, unlike most women, preferred to act.

She slipped into the shadows.

"You know you're allowed to cry, love?" Kneeling beside him, Demetrius gently tugged another shard of glass free from Caelyn's hands. Pale flesh hung from them like stained ribbons.

"Yes, sir." Caelyn couldn't look at him. "I - I - you should take me back. You really should. Especially now. My hands are — they're not nice-looking anymore. If they ever were."

The General's smile was weary. He kissed Caelyn's cheek. "I'm not trading you in."

"Sure. That's what they tell all the boys." The sudden bitterness startled Kat. "Not taking me back and next thing I know I find myself — I - I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, sir." He broke down, sobbing into Demetrius' shoulder.

"Actually," the General said, plucking out another vermillion shard and tossing it to the floor. "It's exactly the opposite if they ever mention it at all. 'Be a good boy or I'll send you away.' I would never."

Caelyn gasped in pain — his anguish hurt far more than the glass. His red-gold hair was plastered with blood where he'd torn at his face and streaked it with his hands. "Why, sir? Why me? Why not someone actually useful? He is right and you know it. I am a walking nervous wreck. I - I'm - I'm not stable. A - and - and I know I'm not worth that much. I'm not worth anything."

_My gods, Darius always knows exactly what nerves to hit, _Kat thought. _That's fucking creepy. _

Demetrius stroked his cheek, green eyes warm with affection, and Caelyn cried harder. "I don't deserve you! I can't! I'm dishonoring you! I don't — you don't deserve to have me as a weak point!"

"You do me nothing but good, love."

"But you don't need a weak point! I'm not worth it!"

Caelyn sobbed even harder. He was choking. Kat watched Demetrius' fingers — she'd seen them pluck out and crush more than a few Demacians' eyes — trace Caelyn's cheekbones until he calmed down.

"I'm not going to leave you."

"But sir." His voice cracked. "The military. Nox - Noxus."

"Shhh." He kissed the boy's forehead tenderly. "You're far more important."

Kat returned to Darius and Swain's sides, shaking her head.

Swain tapped his cane expectantly. "Well?"

"If Demacia gets Caelyn, we're royally fucked. Like, entirely."

Swain swore loudly.

Darius closed his eyes. "Sir, may I speak freely?"

"No," Swain huffed, and limped away into the spring night. Darius watched him go and sighed.

"He's beyond angry."

"What were you going to say?"

Darius wrapped an arm around her waist and led her towards his private quarters. He mostly stayed in Swain's manor, and so kept only a small apartment for himself. "That we don't want to become like the Demacians and focus on perfection. People aren't perfect."

Something about his voice made Kat sad. His son Ryland would sound like that a lot when Katarina met him in six years.

"Except for me, Darius. I'm flawless."

He smiled, took her hand, and helped her lose the night in rough sex.

And at Falin Manor, Demetrius dabbed Caelyn's hands with Piltover Santronic, a clear bitter liquid that had to burn. He sent a deeply unnerved One-eyed Maria out for pain killers, for fever reducers (Caelyn was sweating), for a case of Caelyn's favorite soft drink.

"I'll take you to the doctor's tomorrow," he said, dabbing at the back of Caelyn's right hand with a towel. There were four stacked beneath that cloth — he'd bled through them. The Tactician gently unearthed another little piece of glass and kissed his forehead.

"Just let them rot off," Caelyn whispered. The tears had stopped abruptly, an internal faucet switched off. _I'm useless. Too ugly. I can't. _

"Absolutely not." Demetrius carried him to bed and lay beside him, hugging him close, ignoring the sheet turning red-brown beneath them. Ancestral linen, handed down for six generations. It mattered not.

_Just let me die, _Caelyn thought. _I'm hideous. _

Then Sir nuzzled his cheek, and he felt better. The Wheel was turning - tomorrow Caelyn would show him the fire. How everything but Sir could burn.


	10. Ta - Kitan (Part One)

_The Present _

And so the preparations began in earnest. Ryland turned his back on Oliver, thought for a solid minute, then said, "I'd like to keep the top nine Generals intact for now. For the duration. But I'm going to need Darius' help." He sent the others to rally the Noxian military. They left for the stables eagerly.

Then Darius whisked him outside, under the eaves of the palace, as Ezreal stalked away and Oliver was taken prisoner. Rain rolled down the roof in glistening streams, trickling onto the dark-green alder leaves and gray pavement below. Ryland was startled by the profusion of unkempt, bright blue roses nodding in the mist.

"What the hell?"

"Caelyn's back." Darius sighed, rested against a wolf statue and looked away. "This proves it. And if there was ever a time for father-son bonding, I think it's now."

Ryland realized his father looked melancholy. It was strange. Emotion crossed his stony face even less often than Skylan the Guardian's chiseled one. "I - I'm sorry for taking —"

"Don't apologize. Demetrius is right. I've got no last name to give you, and honestly it suits you very well."

"Really?"

"Aye." Pause. "Strange to get my accent back. But yes, it suits you. The public will fall to its knees. There were times even at the League that I wondered if Demetrius was really your father."

Ryland almost choked. He still hadn't rid himself entirely of his crush. "Um. That aside. I need help."

"Really? You're doing fine so far." Darius suddenly grinned. "Better than me and Jericho back in the day. You didn't have to kill anyone."

"But they're all just — agreeing with me."

"People tend to do that when people are right." Darius shrugged.

"I don't need yes-men."

"Everyone does. Just not all the time." Darius cracked his knuckles. "The good news is, Demetrius and Caelyn aren't yes-men. Not at all. They seem to — like you."

There it was again. That faint sadness.

Ryland frowned. "Caelyn's not a yes-man?"

"Yeah, you think he would be. But just because he rolls on his back doesn't mean he agrees. He'll tell you, too."

They watched a morose Ezreal walk past them, surrounded by a pack of chirruping Willow-Doves. Wren White was kneading Ezreal's shoulders. "It's alright. You were just angry. Besides, Caelyn's probably not even offended."

"He's not?" Ezreal glanced up, saw Ryland, then looked away with a dark scowl.

"No, of course not. In fact I think he'd agree with you." Wren nodded agreeably. "He really is just dust without Demetrius."

Ryland looked to his father. Darius was watching the Doves, bemused. "You're really sure about that. Not a yes-man even as a Dove."

"Aye. Short memory, high capacity for abuse. But not a yes-man. Also, what the hell was up with that reaction earlier?"

"To what?" Ryland laughed. "Which part?"

"Good point." _He's already looking so different. _"To Caelyn."

"Just me being a dweeb." His words were evasive.

"I was only curious because I had the same one." The rain was strengthening. They waved to the Generals as they galloped off, water flying from their black horses' manes and tails.

"You were friends?"

"We rode together." A sudden harsh undertone to his voice, hidden like a jagged rock beneath a fast-flowing river.

"So — not friends? Should I not be friends with my men?"

Darius stared at him, then laughed disparagingly. "Good gods. You really were raised in Demacia, weren't you?"

Ryland felt his fists clench. It would've been easier to forget he was from Demacia if _fucking Oliver wasn't ruining everything, that stupid fucking bastard showing up in MY KINGDOM _

"So," he said calmly. "You weren't friends with Caelyn."

"I couldn't call myself a friend after what happened." Darius tilted his face towards the sparkling rain. A light wind blew a few drops onto his cheeks. "Whatever else you do, stick up for your men. No matter what. There's — a good reason why me, Kat and Jericho were at the League. But first, a press release."

Ryland was already shaking his head. "No. I want intrigue and suspense to build. I want people to start speculating. That way when I show up they're more apt to believe it."

"How so?"

"They'll know _something_'s happening." Ryland's voice had a crispness that wasn't there a few days ago. "But not what. Not until I show my face."

_Well. King Ryland always knew best. _Darius nodded. "Alright, but we at least need a banner."

"Yeah." Ryland looked at one of the black-crimson flags hanging over the doorway, wavering uncertainly in the breeze. The end of it was slightly frayed. "I don't think ravens are going to cut it anymore."

* * *

As for Oliver dar Regale, who would soon be known as the greatest traitor in all of Demacian history, everything was shimmering, glittering. In part because of the rain. In part because the Noxian castle was full of finery, like exotic silk rugs and chandeliers shaped like solar systems. In part because he had a headache building behind his eyes like a storm cloud.

He followed the Tactician and his boy, and Jayce. Jayce's little girl peeled off to_ teach Ezreal who's boss. Yeh, you don't call Foxboy a fag. Even if he is one. _Jayce had just shaken his head, weary.

That huge guy — one of the gods — was following them with an impressive scowl.

Demetrius Falin looked over his shoulder. "So aside from being formerly dead, the arrival of this man caused an uproar because —?"

"He's a rapist," Skylan spat.

Oliver winced. "I —"

"You ruined his life."

"That sounds familiar. Hmm." Oliver's brow furrowed. It was hard to think. Wealth always dulled his senses.

"Probably because it's true?" Skylan's upper lip curled with feral disgust.

"No, no. The little blonde kid I was guarding said that. He said I reminded him of his husband —" Oliver shut his mouth abruptly. Skylan's eyes sparked, furious.

"Godsdamnit. The fact that Aven thought I've got the slightest thing in common with _you _—"

"It — It's just because I don't have a sense of humor. Erm. We don't. Apparently."

"Ryland compared me to you, too." Skylan glared at him. "Just because I've got a heap of muscles doesn't mean I lack a brain."

"I — Uh. Yeah. I'm sure you're smart." Oliver swallowed hard. People as handsome as Skylan were usually pretty dumb. "Wait. So you're married to Ryland's consort? How is that going to work, exact —"

"Mind your business, hound."

"Please. Compare him to insects, if you will. Hounds are a weakness of mine." Demetrius squeezed Caelyn's arm. "Ruined whose life?"

"Ryland's," Jayce said softly.

Oliver's head whipped around. "What? How do you kn —"

"It's complicated, but I do." _A mind video on a chilly Generator wall, showing a false series of events, of Ryland struggling to fight Oliver and losing Luxanna in the process. Ezreal: "Is Lux in hell? Then why is Oliver there? The guy who raped you?" _ "Yeah, you wrecked him pretty bad."

"Ah." Demetrius smiled. "What a horrible human being. King Ryland is a gracious and noble man."

Oliver sputtered. "But —"

"No one cares." Skylan's voice had picked his Old Noxian accent back up. _Cares _sounded like _keers_. "You're a political prisoner now. You should've stayed dead."

"I couldn't. I've got to make it up to him."

"By betraying a country. Fantastic." Demetrius was genuinely pleased. "You've just made my job oceans easier, lad."

"Well at least someone's happy," Oliver muttered.

"And what sort of information do you have, anyway? More than Caelyn I presume." Demetrius ruffled Caelyn's hair. The rain was making the Foxboy sleepy.

"I was — I was pretty high up." _I wish Whitefield was here to hear this. _

"He's not Whitefield anymore. If anyone's Whitefield, I am." Skylan glared at him.

"O - oh." Oliver gulped. "Are you his consort, too?"

Skylan's eyes slitted. "What part of 'mind your business' —"

"Skylan. Sir Skylan? I know you're upset. I myself am fairly disgusted."

"But?"

"In war, such emotions must be put aside." Demetrius opened the door to an unused sitting room, settling into a comfy recliner. Oliver was immediately distracted. The black-latticed windows were clear and had a fantastic view of the city outside. Waving alder trees, the stone hawks and wolves on the castle wall… "There is time enough to be dismayed and disgusted after the killing is through. Beforehand we have no such luxury."

Caelyn knelt on the floor beside his master and rested his cheek on Demetrius' knee. Jayce cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, kid. Sir. General Falin — the little one. Want a pillow or something?" Caelyn shook his head, wishing he could thank Jayce aloud for considering his comfort.

It felt good to kneel. To have that right hand on his shoulders and the back of his neck. Demetrius was left-handed, and would write and knead Caelyn the whole time, relaxing for both of them.

All the Willow-Doves were accustomed to being massaged while their Generals were thinking. They were referred to as _living stress toys _for a reason. Not _human stress toys _— their humanity was up for debate.

"Now then." Demetrius took the notebooks and pens from Ryan White's hands — the Dove had followed them at a respectful distance. Then Ryan dropped a bag of food on Jayce's lap, whispered _trust me, you'll get hungry, _then scurried away. "Your full name."

Oliver swallowed. "Oliver dar Regale."

Caelyn snorted, then laughed. It was the first human sound Jayce had heard him make. But Demetrius was frowning. "Come again? The last part?"

"Dar Regale."

Demetrius put his pen down. He leaned forward. "Really? Of the Demacian apocrypha? I honestly thought that your family existed solely as a locus of moral fables."

Oliver stared at him blankly. "Holy shit. I bet you're smarter than Whitefi —"

"It's _King Ryland_," Skylan snarled, grabbing Oliver by the neck. Caelyn cringed against Sir's knee, unnerved.

"Yes, Oliver, he is Ryland Falin now. I can't believe the king actually took my family name…but never mind that."

"Aren't you the closest thing to royalty besides him?" _People used to call me Piltover's King, _Jayce thought. _Used to. _

"Excellent point, Mister Varden. Mister dar Regale — you're, ah, technically dead, correct?"

"Umm." Oliver blinked. "I guess so?"

"This is all almost as peculiar as that damn space horse," Demetrius murmured, scribbling. "And what relation do you have to Ryland Falin?"

"I was his —"

"Abuser," Skylan finished with a scowl.

"In his own words, please. I'm sorry, your holiness."

_Oh yeah, _Jayce realized. _Skylan is a god, isn't he? _He clutched his temples. _A god, a dead hick, a vampiric pyromancing foxboy. Noxus is fucking insane. _

Oliver took a deep breath. "I was his friend and things went wrong."

"Mhm." More scribbling.

"The other guys and my parents got on me about him. Heterosexuality is, uh…" Oliver watched Demetrius' fingers play along Caelyn's jaw.

"Difficult to believe King Ryland would be friends with this idiot," Skylan muttered.

"Indubitably. Well, Mister dar Regale?" Demetrius frowned impressively. Much of his mind was focused on Oliver's testimony, but the remainder was enjoying Caelyn's soft skin under his fingertips. And the light purring. Come what may, at least his Dove was happy. That was all that truly mattered. "We're waiting."

* * *

— friend, I was his friend and I fucked up. I don't know shit about love but I think that was it. Part of it was him being super rich, I think, but most of me was just happy that — like you said, your godliness. That he'd hang out with an idiot like me.

I was stupid and kinda klutzy. He was a klutz too, but only because he was weak. He never ate enough. I would smuggle extra food out of the dining hall and give it to him before things went wrong but he, like, couldn't eat it. Not even if I rubbed his stomach.

I wanted to be around him all the time. I hated it when they'd split us apart for hiking pairs or something. Because if he and I were in the same one it was always actually enjoyable. Otherwise it was really, really boring.

He'd always point out all the different trees and he saw shit that others didn't. We saw wolves one time. Then he mumbled something about them being my favorite animal and how otherwise I'd never see one in the flesh.

That's part of why I was mad. After being with him, everything but him was boring.

The other guys noticed. We knew — we knew he was Noxian. I mean we were all fucking stupid but even we could tell. And look, now he's the fucking king. I'm not surprised. He was really smart and noble. Just awesome in general.

He, ah, had a shitty home life. I did too, but for a different reason. I graduated with the Torch from the worst school and he had the Torch from the best school. And you know what he told me? He said it wasn't that different. We'd just 'defied our circumstances.' That's what the Torch actually meant. Not the knowledge. He helped me read. Read all those Ezreal books to me.

Oh. Sorry. Off-topic. Um. So I was in love and the guys noticed and started fucking with me. It was already hard enough. Why?

My fucking ancestors — ha. They'd tried to get into the Legion for generations. My entire family. Ever year we'd have at least fifteen people take the entrance exam. Usually around thirty. Fifty if you counted the women — no, your holy-godliness, sir. We usually don't count the women.

You can take it five times before they kick you out. When I went to take it, twelve of my cousins were gathered in a circle, praying because it was their fifth try.

I was the first one ever to get in. Ever. And everyone — they were so proud. So fucking proud of me. I was the light of the family. _A beacon of hope in a raging sea of ignorance and desperation, _Whitefield said. They threw an acceptance party even though we were poor as shit. Everyone chipped in to get me a fancy peacoat like the Eagles wore on their days off. They buried me in it, I think. I woke up wearing it.

And then — then — t - then — I'm sorry. I fucking ruined it. I fell in love with a fucking sorcerer because I'm useless. My dad told me over and over again _you're failin' the tests, boy. You're failin' them. The entrance exam was only the first one. _

But you shoulda seen my family when they heard I'd gotten a perfect score. The army told them when they came up for a visit, about two months before I died, the day they met Whitefield. They surrounded me and were laughing and hugging me. Hell, I think Dad was dancing a little.

I mostly remember looking at Whitefield and seeing his mother checking her watch repeatedly without talking to him. His dad was bitching at the Resident Advisor, demanding to know why his son was rooming with me. Which is a pretty good question, yeah.

If — If Whitefi — If Ry-land (_Ryeland? Rilund? Ryelund.) _was a girl, I don't think it would've mattered as much. 'Cause it's a chick. Even if she was Noxian it'd be understandable, I think. And hell, maybe Pa would've accepted her, especially if she had big tits.

But when they brought Roxie — that was my girlfriend — when they brought Ma and Roxie and my brothers up and they met Whitefield after hugging me, they stared at him, then at me. I had introduced him so proud, too. Forgotten all about that damn test.

Then Ma s - sat me down — I'm sorry.

Thank you for the tea. I'll try to calm down.

Ma sat me down at a coffeeshop. Dad had talked to me about Whi — Ryland — at Wintertide break. Told me about the tests. Said _I ain't gonna tell your mama about this. You're smart enough to figure it out. _But I wasn't.

And my Ma. She took one look at me and started crying. Said, "I didn't raise you like that, Ollie. You know better. And what about Roxie?" Roxie grabbed her hands and said "Miz Dar Regale, the heck are you talking about? What about me?" And Ma said, "Ain't you see his best friend's a no good Noxun?"

But see, Roxie wasn't smart. She couldn't play anything but _Henpeck _on the piano. Whitefield played some Freljordian opera piece for me one night, when everyone was asleep. Then a lot of those classics you'd recognize. Even the really hard ones. Then he hugged me and said _I'm glad at least you're here to listen. _

Roxie didn't understand movies. Whitefield showed me these weird Ionian ones and explained them. I still remember _Call of the Crane_. Something about how the bamboo symbolized the eternal bond between the guy and the gods, or something. The guy stabbed himself with it and turned into a star. Fucking weird.

Roxie thought _I _was the smart one because I had the Torch and I'd gotten in. Whitefield treated me like I was smart, but I wasn't. He'd always say, _I know you can understand this. How do I know? Because you can. _

Compared to Whitefield, Roxie wasn't even attractive. I feel bad for saying that.

But. Well. It's just like what your little — uh — husband said. I tortured him.

No, I really don't want to talk about — I — I —

* * *

Caelyn was laughing silently, tears streaming from his pale eyes. _Demacians. So stupid. Repulsive. Dumb. _

"And I bet he didn't want to go through the torture." Skylan honestly looked like he was about to shoot lightning bolts from his hands at any moment.

Demetrius tapped his pen against his temple. _Good lord. It's a bit like Degardo. I almost feel bad for him. Almost. _"I've got to hear about it for psychoanalytical purposes. I'll need to know how to advise King Ryland on what to do with you."

"Oh. Are you a sorcerer too?"

"No, but my boy is." Caelyn nodded, snapped his fingers. Embers flicked to the ground. Oliver flinched.

"Um. Cool. Anyway." He was bright pink. "I…wanted to apologize."

Demetrius waved the words away. "The torture, if you please."

"Well." Oliver coughed hard. "A lot of it was, uh, sexual."

Demetrius glanced at Caelyn and sighed through his nose. The Foxboy was watching Oliver closely, interested. _Wonderful. Hopefully he wasn't particularly inventive. _

"I…mouth-raped him a lot. Without his consent." Oliver fidgeted.

"Wait. Hold on." Jayce groaned. "So to prove you weren't gay —"

"It wasn't the gay part. It was loving him, disguised as the gay part."

_A rather complex thought for this dumb horse. _Demetrius nodded. "Go on."

"Which I thought was okay." He paused, waiting for an interruption. "Sort of. Because we'd been — dating. There, I said it. We were dating. And he was into that weird Noxian shit anyway."

"I'm assuming you mean sadomasochism. It's popular here, but originated in Ionia." Demetrius scribbled _justification: previous dating, previous activities of the same sort [likely]. _

Skylan frowned. "Really?"

"In this world at least, your godship. Carry on."

"A lot of the abuse was — verbal. Which seemed to hurt him more. It was the only times he cried." Oliver hung his head. "Poor little guy."

"And?"

"Other molestations. A few weekends I tied him up with duct tape and, uh, um. Groped him a couple times. He didn't mind this as much because I was gentle. Mostly." He paused.

Caelyn was purring loudly, staring at Oliver without a blink. His eyes were wide and starry. Demetrius squeezed the back of his neck. He flinched, startled. _Hush, boy. Gods above. _

"And when — what an odd question. When were you killed? And why?"

Oliver was silent.

"Mister dar Regale? You were doing well."

"Me an' the guys." Oliver's voice was almost too quiet to hear. The others leaned forward. "Me and five of the guys ganged up on him, finally. He could usually handle it when it was just me. He cried a lot, then whimpered, then got really, really, really quiet. His eyes were empty by the time I was done. That's what I remember from right before I died. Empty eyes. We left him."

"And?"

A long pause.

Oliver's tone was suddenly businesslike. "I guess he summoned a Shade. When our RA went to check on him, we died. We all died to a Shade of Ezreal. My face got ripped off. The Shade had Whitefield's empty eyes."

Demetrius the Tactician let the silence spin out. Rain pattered along the window glass, the pavement. Skylan struggled to withhold his rage. Jayce was massaging his forehead.

Oliver eyed Caelyn. "You look a lot more human on TV."

Caelyn scowled.

"And I doubt you've ever even been human." Skylan cracked his knuckles. "So, Sir Falin? Can I kill him again?"

"Not yet," Demetrius said absently, still writing. "Oliver, why are you here?"

Oliver cleared his throat. His next words were clearly rehearsed. "What I did was wrong. Unexcusable."

"Inexcusable," Jayce corrected. The Dove was right — he _was _hungry, even after hearing all that shit.

"Yeah. Inexcusable. That. Even after I was dead, I couldn't quit thinking about Whi - Ryland. His majesty. No matter what. Meditation. Prayer. Nothing stopped it."

"So," Demetrius said with arched eyebrows. "You're still in love with him." He could tell by the painful scarlet flush from Oliver's temples to collarbone that he'd cracked him. _Too easy. Simply too easy. _

"Ha!" Skylan barked laughter. "You really are a fucking idiot."

Oliver coughed. "Regardless of how his majesty feels, I still need to apologize. It's the right thing to do. I've got to make it up to him."

"Wonderful. I know how you can." Demetrius nodded.

"Really?"

"Indeed. In fact, he'll probably come speak to you about it."

"R - really?"

"Yes." Demetrius smiled, and Jayce flinched away. The Tactician was so gentle and kind he almost forgot sometimes. But it was there, waiting — the dark. Noxus. "You just have to tell me everything you know."

* * *

And so the preparations continued in earnest.

The top nine rallied the military, and the speculation reached such a frenzied height before dusk that Ryland decided to ride the next day. No delaying. Not any longer. No time to consider, to think of being king.

He had the briefest moment of longing at the dinner table, surrounded by eager Generals, laughter and cheer. The briefest craving for it to be just he and Ezreal on the plains. To relive the first time he heard him say _I love you, too_. Remembering how his lips formed those words, his blue eyes still fully sane.

Then the craving was gone.

Demetrius was with Oliver well into the evening. It seemed like a trap at first. A stupid one. It was simply too easy for Saint Garamond's loose-tongued student to come stumbling from the bowels of hell just to talk.

Then Demetrius remembered how Meridian the hell-mare had just been standing in the stables, and how his once-dead boy lay purring against his knee.

No. Not a trap. But a Wheel.

At the end of the interview, he shook Oliver's hand. "Thank you for so thoroughly and utterly betraying your country's afterlife."

"Wh - betraying?"

Caelyn snorted. Demetrius thought, _Oh dear. Surely he's not that stupid. _"That is what giving a large quantity of information to an opposing country is called, aye. At least in Noxus."

"Wh —"

"We're going to war with the Haven," Demetrius said gently. He saw Oliver's eyes dart to the now-filled notebook beneath his arm, but Caelyn was faster. He snarled, eyes flashing red, and Oliver withdrew.

"Oh, fuck," he huffed. "Fuck fuck fuck."

"Quite." Demetrius shrugged. "I assume you've got full roam of the palace for now. Enjoy it while it lasts."

He walked off, holding Caelyn close, looking forward to rereading the notes in bed with the boy nuzzling his collarbone. King Ryland would likely be grateful for his and Caelyn's service. Unlike Jericho, who took them for granted. Demetrius, for one, was pleased with the regime change. And as Caelyn kissed his cheek, he realized Caelyn was, too.

Oliver watched him go. A memory: "_Why do you hurt me?" "Because I love you." _

"Fuck," he mouthed, and sank to the castle steps. He buried his head in his hands, ignorant of the bustling city below. It was still raining. Hell, it was always raining. Everywhere.

At some point, the door opened. A shadowy form settled beside him, nearby. Oliver had to do a double-take.

"Your — your majesty?" _Oh, good. At least I didn't fuck that up._

The voice was almost unrecognizable. "What the fuck are you doing? Or do you know?"

_Whitefield never swore. _Oliver gulped. "I came to make everything up to you." He got the briefest impression of silver-green eyes. Then he was being kissed, and actually so. Deeply. No shyness or shame. He almost pulled away in surprise, but settled into it instead.

He still tasted the same. Mint and some high, wild northern flavor. Pine. And the back of his neck still felt the same beneath Oliver's palm.

He didn't want to let Ryland go, but forced himself to. Gods knew everyone was pissed enough.

"What the hell was that for?"

Ryland Falin's fingers dug into his neck, his breath scalding against his face. Rain slanted past the castle lanterns.

"Reminding you that I'm not yours. I never will be."

Then he was gone.

* * *

Both Ezreal and Ryland cried that night, the eve of King Ryland's return.

"Don't you ever wish it would stop turning?" Ezreal's hot tears dripped onto Ryland's neck.

"Aye. Yes. Me and you. Me as a Healer. You as an anthropologist. Or us as Champions. That was fun."

"But you're a king. I knew it. Not the whole time, but for a while." Ezreal swallowed hard. "What were we doing, wandering around up north anyway? What if we hadn't left?"

But he knew it was inevitable. First he hadn't believed in fate, then Ryland hadn't. Their resistance was valiant. Ezreal struggling against the voices writhing and hissing in his head — _come Sun Child Burn it Burn the Wheel_. Just as Ryland clung to Aven, clung hard until the Dark Arts overwhelmed the Healer at last.

They hadn't believed in fate, but neither could no longer deny it.

Likewise, it would be impossible to deny that their bodies had familiar positions against one another's. Just as in that Freljordian hotel, or Ryland's bed at the League. The king's four-poster bed with its sumptuous mattress was no different. Ryland's hip was still just a little too bony, Ezreal's chin just a little painful against his collarbone. It mattered not — the King would be there to feel the Destroyer's tears.

A bond unchanged by broken wrists, a burned hand and Noxus' people, by godship or destruction.

_I want it to quit turning, _Ezreal thought. He listened to the Healer's strong, steady heartbeat.

But it didn't. _Ta - aikah. _


	11. Ta - Kitan (Part Two)

_N.B. __Hello, dear readers! (Remember when I used to say that? Ha). Look how far we've come. Isn't it wonderful?_

_Who the hell was I kidding? **There will be a Ta - Kitan (Part Three). **Also I wrote 22 pages today. Whee!  
_

_ Friend from Sweden, I'd love if you made an account and messaged me on here. I'm sorry that all things gotta end eventually. _

_ Everyone else, thank you thank you thank you. _

_ Finally, I really **advise you to take a break where different parts are indicated. Part One and Part Two, etc. **Take a break, go eat a taco, pet your dog. will enjoy the story more. _

_ Or maybe you won't. What do I know? Happy reading. _

* * *

Part One 

I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you of King Ryland — or, rather, King Ryland I.

Like most great moments in history, it happened as a misunderstanding. It began as a simple argument between Life and Death.

Four-hundred years ago, Ian Lightbringer was watching his favorite Noxian Generals get pummeled in a war with Shurimana when his wife Liliana wandered by and mused, "You know. Looking back on it, I s'pose it be a wee bit strange that we don't have a girl involved with creation. What with pregnancy and all that."

A cranky Ian had grumbled, "Oh? I thought we had one."

"Hmm?"

"You mean t'tell me Aven isn't a girl?"

Life grew irate and berated him, listing offenses from Wheels so far long ago that Death had nearly forgotten them.

When she left — most likely to fuck one of her precious war heroes — Death decided he was due for a bit of vengeance.

Ezreal and Aven Lightbringer — and Ryland and Skylan — were born again and again throughout time. Ezreal and Ryland in the Northern World, and Aven and Skylan in the Center. However, they didn't always meet their counterparts. Ezreal was sometimes damned to years of loneliness, and some of the Aven's' lifetimes were cut short from lack of a Guardian.

Death, furious with his wife Liliana, twisted the ties of fate, disturbing the natural order and upsetting the next scheduled incarnations. As such, Aven of Fairlight and Ryland of Noxus came to occupy the Northern World four-hundred years ago. Ezreal and Skylan lived in the Center World.

In the Center World, Skylan's barbarian tribe ransacked a village of foreigners. When the settlement was reduced to sticks and gray ash against the snow, Skylan's father reached into a burning house, grimaced, and flung a tiny golden-haired child into Skylan's arms.

_Brother cub, _his father grunted. _Take care. _Skylan looked down at the small child, frowning. The blue-eyed child scowled back up at him, then snapped at Skylan's fingers like a feral dog. And Skylan smiled. _Brother. _He and Ezreal later became tribal chiefs of Freljord.

Noxus of the Northern World was a little more complicated. The early years of King Ryland I's reign were very controversial. He carried no weapon and was a sorcerer, of which the people were very wary.

Still, his incredible dedication to clearing the streets of Noxus — making them safe enough to walk alone at night, something accomplished neither before nor since — endeared him to the people. As did his handsomeness and musical talent. And his sex addiction. He was quite charming, really.

Truth be told, King Ryland I brought the golden age of Noxus. Under his command, the Noxians fought back the Demacians and formed strong economic trades with Ionia and Shurimana. All prospered: they say even the street-sweepers whistled merrily while they worked. The king's innovations in music, his efforts to improve the infrastructure, his adoration of his people —these made the city-state lovely to the very bones of its cathedrals.

The loveliness was only compounded by Aven of Fairlight. The first Willow-Dove.

Frustrated by the King's impenetrable defense of his country, the Demacians turned their attention instead to the tribes of Freljord.

Deep within the hearts of the pines lived a race of fey sorcerers, sprightly magicians who were one with the trees and wind and ice and snow. Hidden in the glens of their people was the so-called Elixir of Immortality. Of course the Demacians headed north and annihilated the peaceful fey people's settlement, leaving only one child alive, who fled south — the prince. Aven.

The prince sought Noxus' help. King Ryland rode north with his Generals. It was too late — the fey tribe was long dead. The Demacians were fanned out in the forest, hunting, searching for something they had no right to keep.

So King Ryland, determined to show his goodwill to the prince, used his Dark Arts and his domain over nature to slaughter the Demacians. Wolves arose from the snow, shaking flakes from their coats and ice from their muzzles. Hawks formed from fallen leaves and clawed out Demacian eyes. A dragon, all thorns and primal justice, lived and glutted itself on Demacian blood.

But nothing could bring back the fey prince's people. He thanked King Ryland, then sank to his knees in the snow and wept into his hands. And King Ryland I, moved by the fey prince's plight (and perhaps his incomparably lovely green eyes and blonde hair) brought him home to Noxus and made him his companion.

The name _Willow-Dove _comes from the King's pet-name for Aven. For Ryland's boy was sweet and soft, treading the boundary between the triumphant light of the Aurora and the rich darkness of Noxus. And the Generals, envious of King Ryland I, quickly found their own Doves in the orphanages in Demacia. And the Willow-Doves brought light to Noxus in the form of musical and artistic inspiration, softening the Generals and Knights' stony hearts with blue eyes that sparkled like stars, smiles as bright as the moon…

All Noxians in the future longed to live in that age. The wine was said to be more refreshing, the food more filling, the horses and slaves more obedient, the whores more cheerful and clean. Ryland's entire reign seemed to be limned in gold. Some said that you could hear the notes of his piano echoing in the _L'Rae Divin _theater. The theater couldn't bear to let King Ryland go, and so the music remained, a remnant of a past long gone.

Or was it? Was it truly gone? Ryland's queen Cressida stubbornly refused to die and often spoke of his return. Men looked on her and sighed nostalgically. Women — Cressida was a real woman. A true beauty. Of course she was. She was Ryland's wife.

_When he returns, the air will be sweeter. The rain will soothe your hearts. His voice and music will ring from statue to statue, home to home. His love will nourish us all. _

So when King Ryland was rumored to live again —

In eager anticipation of a second golden age, every Noxian was willing to do his bidding.

* * *

_Part Two_

_The Northern World: Noxus _

"Sir?"

Demetrius looked up, reading glasses sliding down his nose. "Yes?"

"I love you." Caelyn snuggled closer, listening to his heartbeat, the rain, the rustling of the pages. _Everything is warm. _

Demetrius put an arm around his ribs and kissed his forehead. He was contemplating Oliver's description of the Haven's gates, though his eyes were drawn again and again to the words _still in love with His Majesty [definitely]._

"I love you, too, child. It's good to hear your voice again."

* * *

_The Southern World: Death's Domain. The Gates of the Haven._

"Sir?"

Saint Sarturo looked up, thankful for the interruption. "Yes?"

The eyes of the subordinate were frantic and deep blue with fear. Everything was growing troublesome. Besides Oliver's disappearance and the captive princess, kneeling before him were two more disturbing passings, both unscheduled. Jarvan IV, who looked haggard and weary, and a crying Quinn.

She'd collapsed on her back. She was clawing at her face, mouthing one word over and over again: _Valor_.

_And this is why, _Saint Leanbranch thought. _This is why attachments are troubling. _He shook himself. Sir Raymond's voice was urgent.

"Yes, Sir Raymond?"

"There's — war coming."

"And how do you know that?" _If this is about that burning island from a few days ago…_Sarturo had had quite enough of that nonsense.

He whirled at the sounds of heavy wingbeats behind him, felt a cool breeze chill the back of his neck.

The Archangel Michael and his acolyte, Garamond. Michael's huge white wings gleamed in the noontide sun, his hair like polished gold. Jarvan IV managed a tired salute, but Quinn wasn't swayed from her weeping.

The Archangel Michael's voice was deep, mellifluous like the bells that rang every hour. Sarturo had enjoyed those bells the first few years. They'd grown to irritate him. "He speaks true. Besides Captain dar Regale, the boy known as Caelyn Falin is gone."

Sarturo Leanbranch suppressed his snort of indignation. _Never mind why he was down here to begin with. _

He remembered vividly he and the Saints watching the small boy stir by the gates. _Well, if it isn't Sir Five-Hundred-Thousand-Years Dead in Noxus, _Saint Leanbranch sneered, referencing Caelyn's most famous speech. Caelyn leapt to his feet, sword at the ready — it was still Garamond's own. Stolen.

_Come to me, you bleeding bastards! You whoresons! I'll cut all of you down at once! _

_We've got him. We can do whatever we went. _The shine to Saint Hailey Brightstone's eyes hadn't been healthy or sane.

But that fool Garamond held a hand up. He wouldn't sink to the boy's baseness, his evil. _Now, now. I think he's already been punished quite enough. _

Everyone froze. Then Caelyn laughed. _Still just as ignorant, I see. Death doesn't trouble me! _

_Oh? _Saint Garamond hadn't stopped his smile. _Really? Noxians aren't sent here when they die. _

_What? _The sword wavered.

_Those with the blood of Noxus, _Sarturo Leanbranch chimed in. He was waiting gleefully for the boy to realize. _This world is closed to them. And what was all that about your master having blood as pure as the Noxian springs of ancient Iso? _

The sword wavered again. Then they saw it — dawning horror in Caelyn's pale eyes. Hopelessness. Terror.

_Yes. Deny it however much you like. You're still Demacian. The blood in your veins flows from our country, however regrettably for all of us. _Hailey Brightstone smiled bitterly. _So here you are. With us. All the people you've killed. _

_No Noxian has ever set foot here. Your beloved master _— Garamond almost choked on the word. _— is lost to you for all eternity._

Caelyn's sword lowered. And he ran, but Sarturo Leanbranch found him underground, despite Garamond's cautions to the contrary. Garamond believed his life and death were just. Sarturo Leanbranch…didn't. He missed life.

So he simply watched with pleasure as the days passed — Caelyn was torturing himself. The withdrawal from the Tactician's pheromones and blood. His eyes and hair losing their luster, his muscles quaking. Spasming. Seizing. Sometimes the boy was screaming into the black. Or crying into it. He tore his wrists open with his teeth but still wouldn't die. After three weeks he couldn't hold his sword.

Once the Foxboy was weakened, Sarturo began to end each visit the same way — with his boot on Caelyn's thin chest. He would lean down and whisper into his ear, _Are you ready to be a Battle Saint, Caelyn? _Sometimes he would rest his hand on the nape of his neck just to feel him shudder, or his right shoulder to hear him choke.

_Never, you g - g odsd - damned b - b - _

Leanbranch rubbed Caelyn's throat, feeling — peculiar. Almost like his skin was too small for his body, and burning. Almost how he'd felt later while beating King Ryland's consort.

Caelyn's breaths rasped against the Battle Saint's palm. The boy was whimpering and purring softly, involuntarily. _Such a pity that silver tongue of yours is silenced. No more pretty speeches about loving Demetrius, isn't that right? _

"Saint Leanbrach," Garamond said softly. "We need you."

Sarturo flinched. "Ah. Sorry. What's happening?"

"War. We must prepare."

Sarturo shot a quick look at Jarvan and Quinn. Jarvan's head was bowed with sadness, Quinn's face furrowed with bright red streaks. "Are you certain?" _More importantly, have we a chance? _

But it wouldn't do to think that way. Caelyn Falin only brought darkness in his wake. Corruption of every kind. His absence was a blessing.

_I must think correctly so my sword follows my thoughts. We will win, no matter our opponent. Justice and truth will prevail. _

_(All of the Saints begged the Angels to explain it. _Why Caelyn? Why here? Why more tests in the Haven? Have we not learned enough by him killing us?

_They were met with silence.)_

"Quite." The Archangel turned his eyes to the sky. "You'll see soon enough. It's very troubling."

How troubling, at that moment, they knew not.

* * *

"I still don't know shit about King Ryland," Ryland mumbled, peering into the bathroom mirror with one bleary eye. Beside him, Ezreal was brushing his teeth. He muttered something that sounded like _me neither. _

"Yeah. I'm gonna say one wrong thing and they'll tear me apart."

Ezreal spat and winced. The foam was reddish. Hygiene after traveling for so long was hard. "I know the basics. You look exactly like him. Honestly he was just a cool guy. That's all there is to it."

"I'm a dweeb." Ryland huffed.

"No, that's that one guy. Fagboy."

"Ez, _please_ —"

"I know." Ez rolled his eyes.

"_Please _don't call him that."

"Fine then," Ez grumbled. "Slaveslut." He knew they were both just nervous. After quietly crying on each other for about two hours, Ezreal had decided to pledge himself entirely to Noxus. In a few more hours, they'd be revealing themselves — and Caelyn, who was supposed to be dead — not just to Noxus, but Runeterra. "Like you can just tell he's a whore."

Ryland said nothing. It was best just to let him ramble sometimes.

"Like — I don't know." Ezreal fluffed the hair by his temples, then combed it back down. "I still don't buy that the Doves aren't sex slaves."

"They really aren't." Ryland sighed.

"Yeah." A pause. "I wonder if Caelyn calls him _daddy _in bed."

"Okay. Now you're being really weird." _Also, the answer to that is no. Well, mostly no. _Ryland shook his head. _Godsdamn Skylan and his voyeurism. _

"We're criminals." Ezreal's eyes suddenly snapped to Ryland's. The Sorcerer almost flinched, but stopped himself. The gold flecks swirling around in the blue of Ezreal's eyes were pretty, not alarming.

He slapped a palm against Ezreal's forehead and said around his toothbrush, "I hereby exonerate you of your crimes, Ezreal of Noxus."

"Gee. Thanks, King Ryland. You're the best."

Ryland nodded and spat foam. It wasn't red. Not anymore — his gums had been pretty fucked up from being up north. He shuddered. _I never want to see snow again. Ever. Or pine trees, or Freljordians. Or the Aurora, for that matter. She was going to kill me. So was her husband. _

The resident doctor cleaned Ryland's destroyed hand every six hours, scrubbing it and looking surprised when Ryland said it didn't hurt. _Takes a lot more than that, friend. _The care seemed to help a little, though it still wasn't functional.

Ezreal stroked his own right wrist thoughtfully. Though his gauntlet was long gone, the habit remained. "Are you allowed to do that? With my crimes?"

"Yeah. You're innocent. In, uh, Noxus." Ryland blushed a little. "'Cause it's my kingdom."

"Maybe you are a dweeb. But it's okay." Ezreal playfully punched his shoulder and was deeply pleased when Ryland didn't flinch. "It'll be okay. We're together. Man, that sounds gay."

Ryland sighed again, heavily, then took a comb to his hair. "You actually have experience with this. Crowds and shit."

"Yeah. I'll speak for you if I have to." Ez shrugged. "And if Noxus doesn't like it, they can eat a dick."

_No, _Ryland thought, combing his hair. _That's Lux. _

"Ughh. I fucking hope so. I think the last time I got laid was when Katarina raped me."

"Wait. Really?" _That was literally forever ago. _

"Yeah. And I don't count that. But I'm sure you're just as bad off as I am…well, maybe not with Skylan." Ryland felt him flicking through his memories and coughed.

"Gotta go."

He left and heard Ez say, "Wait, threesome? With Cressida? What the fuck, Ryland! You don't even like sex!"

It was good to be king.

Well, mostly. He passed Oliver and Erinae. Erinae was clawing at a morose Oliver's arm and growling a list of expletives. Oliver was just taking it with an occasional sigh. "You slow-brained shoehorn bastard. You — you fuckin' idiotic umbrella! King Ryland is a good guy!"

Ryland cocked his head. _Huh. She must've been hanging out with Skylan. _

"I know." Oliver sounded utterly defeated. He winced when she hissed, exposing her longish canines. Ryland grinned — it looked like he was going to be the resident whipping boy.

_Maybe — no, I won't make him dress like a Dove. I think Caelyn would be insulted. That'd be hilarious, though. _

"Good morning."

Oliver flinched. He couldn't look at him. "Good morning, your majesty."

"You were a Captain in the Hereafter, right?"

"Aye, your majesty."

Ryland actually guffawed. "You're not a General. Don't try to change your accent."

"Yes, your majesty." Oliver winced again. Erinae sank her teeth into his broadly muscled forearm and was chewing on him. Her eyes filled with pleasure. Catharsis. The _Erinae_ womenwere less human on their period, and eating a human — or trying to — was immensely satisfying. "Thank you for not imprisoning me. Very gracious of you."

_Interesting. He sounded dumb at the interview, according to Demetrius. Now he's got a High Demacian accent. Amazing what you can do when you want to impress people._

"Oh, of course." Ryland thought for a moment. On impulse he said, "You'll be riding with me against the Haven. You were Garamond's personal student, right?"

"Yes, sire." He squeezed his eyes shut. Erinae was growling.

"Erin, what the fuck? Why are you using Idiotboy as a chewtoy?" Jayce appeared over Ryland's shoulder, smelling strongly of Noxian aftershave, red-eyed from a hangover. Shortly after Ezreal's pledge, he'd appeared drunk in their bedroom doorway and pledged himself to Noxus, too.

Erin growled louder.

Ryland nodded. "Then your services will come in handy against your former country. Try to turn on us in battle and you'll be torn to death."

"Looks like he's on his way already," Jayce muttered. He went to her and tried to pull her off and was rewarded by a high, sing-song cat wail. Her eyes slanted. He dropped her immediately. "Well. Fuck me."

"No thank you, sir. Not without a proper courtship." Oliver's face was completely still.

"Not you." Jayce scowled at him. Ryland snickered. He recognized that poker face. They'd take turns telling their Residential Advisor outlandish lies, seeing who would laugh first. "Yeah. That would be funny if you hadn't, oh I don't know. Raped a guy."

_Oh. _Ryland had forgotten. He blushed hard and followed Ezreal down towards the basement armory, ignoring the Destroyer's weird look.

* * *

_Part Three_

The streets of Noxus flooded with bodies despite the rain. Generals of the lower tiers corralled people to the sides of the pavement. But even the war-torn men, astride their damp black horses, couldn't stop their smiles. The city itself throbbed with excitement.

_They're home, _the wind and rain seemed to say. _The Voice and Heart of Noxus, home at last. _

And when the banners and horses came into view, all fell silent.

The Willow-Doves had done wonderfully, poured their hearts, souls, minds and skills into the flags, working around the clock. Most of them were still jittery and faint-hearted from espresso, but the warm thanks and hugs from King Ryland and Sir Demetrius Falin were more than reward enough.

The new Falin family banner had two stately wolves facing one another and a red fox in a halo of blue roses between them. Noxus' official crest was scarlet against black, silhouettes of a snarling wolf snapping at the crimson tail feathers of a diving hawk.

Caelyn held both of them on one pole, seated on Meridian the Hell-Mare, his other arm wrapped around Ryland's waist. Ezreal rode to their left, solemn Demetrius to their right. Skylan and Oliver behind them.

The decision to include Oliver painfully offended Skylan. _You're joking, Sir Ryland. You've got to be. _

_Honestly it's for symmetry —_

_Stop comparing me to him! _Skylan snapped. _Gods almighty, I've got a mind just to tear his spine apart so you'll all fucking stop! _

Ryland paused. Demetrius had his notebook held protectively over his chest. Ezreal looked scared. Caelyn — was a furry fox kit on the floor, panting, nervous.

_You two are nothing alike. I didn't even notice I was — we were saying that. I'm really sorry. _

_At least make him wear a sign. Something. Shame him, Sir Ryland. Gods knows he's shamed you enough. _Skylan didn't deign to look at dar Regale.

_I think white armor will do that well enough. Right? _Oliver nodded, looking away.

Later Skylan thought to Ryland, _Knowing what he did to you pains me. I do not want you to believe I'm capable of hurting you._

Ryland was touched. _I understand. I trust you. _

But, of King Ryland's return:

The Tactician couldn't hear the horse hooves over his pounding heart, though the steps echoed against the pavement, echoed into the silence. The banner — his family's new banner — flapped in the wind, defiant of the light rain. A new start. Caelyn back from the dead. _I've got another chance. I can protect him. Take care of him. Keep the military and the killing from consuming him. _He tried to keep his eyes ahead, but they were drawn to his boy's face. It was radiant with happiness, glowing above the armor black. Caelyn saw him looking and grinned.

Oliver's hands were shaking. Naturally. Once away from people smarter than him, he felt safe enough to think. _Why is he doing this? I feel honored. Should I? _The answer was probably no. He watched the faces of the people change from awe to joy, from admiration of Skylan's muscles to confusion. And they were all so pale and wide-eyed. _Does Noxus have every single sinful luxury but tanning salons? _He thought of asking Whitefield and didn't.

Ezreal felt the citizens' curiosity but was, for a while, distracted. Luxanna seemed to beckon. His queen would look heavenly among the sea of black hair, the ocean of green eyes. Then there it was — that feeling again. Worship. Adoration, love, excitement, and just a tinge of fear. From the people watching them. _Why are they scared of — oh. That article. _And many more news articles, though he knew it not. _They know how strong I am. _A long time ago, he would've been sad that people feared him. Now he relished it. They feared him and his best friend King Ryland, both. As they should.

Skylan was still infuriated, mostly because he knew exactly what Aven would've muttered when he snapped at Ryland. _"Always told y'you have feelings, y'brute. No use ignorin' them." _Being frustrated by being equivocated with Oliver was stupid. Or was it? Why did it bother him so much?

_Oh. Because the comparison's similar. We're both idiots. Aven's smarter than I am. I'm — rough with him and get off on him begging me to stop. First time I met Ryland, he told me I was abusive towards him. I — broke Aven's burnt wrists because he liked Ryland a little, even though I've technically spent more time with Ryland now than Aven has, and like him myself… And I really don't know why Aven stays with a brute like me anymore than I understand Moon Son enjoying this ox's company. Aven calls me 'brute', and Oliver's a brute if I've ever seen one. _His fists clenched around the reins of his shadow-black palfrey as his face flushed. _I'll get him back and fix it. Fix him and Ryland both. _Then, quieter: _He and Ryland are more suitable for one another…as long as they're happy, I care not._

Caelyn was happy because Noxus was happy. The fresh rain felt good on his face after living underground. And he was trying very hard not to purr. His Majesty felt almost as good to be near as Sir. But if he started purring now, their two suits of armor would vibrate like gongs or church bells. _And of course the damn Doves would put me in the middle of the family flag. Even if His Majesty said he loved it, I don't deserve it. _A pause._ But it is very pretty. _He was content.

Ryland's pulse soared as their slow parade exited the city's main street, then gates. A vast portion of the army was arrayed against a meadow of green, all shining black armor, pale faces and expectant eyes in the haze of rain.

He was unaware of the Piltover cameramen planted inconspicuously among them. So he couldn't know that his face, along with Skylan's rugged one, Demetrius' well-bred one, Ezreal's darkly handsome one and all the rest were splayed across viewscreens, 'screens from Noxus itself to Ionia, Shurimana to the Demacian palace.

The horses' hoofbeats faded once off the road and into the grass. Ryland had one more instant of nervousness — _I hope I don't trip_. Then his body was filled with relief, high, crisp, calm relief like sunlight against a springtide mountain range. He breathed the sweet rain and air of Noxus deep into his lungs as he and the others dismounted.

No more Brightbridge, stifling hallways and hateful glances. No more cold hours of loneliness, trembling fingers flipping through the pages of Ezreal books. He had no one to fear — not his mother, and especially not Oliver, the hulking brute once bold and brash, now timid. From lion to kitten.

Ryland felt good. _Ta - aikah. Finally. _

He surveyed his nervous men. Then his voice — the one the myths claimed could tame nature — rang over them.

"It's good to be home."

For a moment more there was silence. Then the men up front fell heavily to their knees, followed by others. Ryland was startled to see a few tears — _the Demacians would have them booted_. They all knelt, let the rain wash over them. Ezreal's smile broadened.

Ryland brought his hands together. "Arise! That won't be necessary. I'd rather meet you on equal ground."

They staggered to their feet. There was still no sound besides the weak _ping ping ping _of rain striking their black shoulder-pieces.

Ryland caught a glimpse of unholy, decadent glee in Ezreal's dark blue eyes. All this worship was giving him a high. He was elegant, a fair angel of vengeance in his black armor, even with the rain dampening his golden hair against his temples.

King Ryland II spoke thus:

"How I wish I stood before you in the name of peace, that all was entirely well. Instead, I stand before you because nothing is. In fact, all of Runeterra, Valoran and more is in terrible, terrible danger."

Ryland looked out. The Noxian military was captivated, just as the Generals had been days earlier. Always captivated — he would never know why, when Demacia treated like a hound. Beat him, tried to break him. They had failed.

His voice grew stronger.

"Our troubles take us past the white walls of the country we have eternally struggled against, past their white-armored ranks, past their churches. Past even their king, and into the heart of their religion itself. What is about to be related cannot be understood with the mind. No, not any more than men long-thought to be dead standing before you can be. Instead, it must be understood with the heart. Something I know the men of Noxus have no issue with."

Ezreal glanced at his friend and hoped he was having as much fun as he was. His emblem, the hawk, was splashed onto the banner of the country his best friend ruled. Ezreal was accustomed to admiration — first academia, then the League. Now this — this was worship. And who wouldn't want to be worshiped? So he couldn't hide his grin and didn't think about how devious or terrifying it looked to the hundreds of thousands people watching.

_But even this fierce joy was buried beneath thoughts of Princess Luxanna, misted by her the way the Generals' black armor was misted by rain. _

Ryland held everyone's gaze. He felt the words escape his mouth and knew there was no calling them back.

"This war takes us to the Demacian archangels themselves."

Many of the remaining Champions of the League were clustered around a large viewscreen. Caitlyn and Vi were clutching at one another. "That's not Ezreal, right? That really can't be Ezreal."

"I — I don't know," Caitlyn whispered hoarsely. "He was glowing before. I thought he'd be dead. Oh _fuck_." She felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyelids. "Oh fuck, I don't know."

Taric, Nami and Sona, leaning against the back of the red couch the Piltoverians sat on, traded glances.

"He was such a good healer. So beautiful and kind," Nami whispered, clutching her heart. Sona's portable _etwahl_ chimed in agreement.

But Taric shook his head firmly. "Soraka would still be proud of him. She would want us to be still. Him becoming a healer was never her intention."

"Oh?" Leblanc looked up from the huge goblet of red wine she was sharing with Talon on a nearby sofa. Talon's scowl was softened by drink. "Then what did she want from him?"

"For him to find himself. To lose his fear. Become whoever he really was."

Zandred Claren of Zaun, still the Venerable Summoner of the League of Legends, scrubbed at his face. "Well, he gave it to me. His fear. I'm terrified. Not that that's anything particularly earthshatteringly new." His assistants Jatt and Turley nodded in wild agreement.

"What's going to happen?" That was Sarah Fortune, sounding bemused, twirling strands of red around her fingers. She wasn't as scared as some of the others. After that hole in the sky up north, after _ta - kitan_…

"Not a single idea." Jericho Swain appeared behind them, cane clicking briskly against the tile. "But I suppose this is one way to force a man into retirement." He plucked the goblet of wine from Leblanc's fingers and chugged it.

"Our conflict with Demacia is ancient. I believe, as do many, that the divide has transcended politics and beliefs and become something much deeper. The conflict is in our blood. It is our inheritance, as surely as our hair and eye color. As surely as the Dark Arts were mine."

Ryland paused and swallowed.

"Demacia is lost in a past that was never glorious — a fossilized memory entombed in gold and marble, a lifeless statue nonetheless pointed to again and again. 'This statue is right,' they say, while its skin erodes, its ears and eyes are worn away with rain and wind, while its very bones crumble beneath the weight of their society — the weight of the Wheel itself."

"What is he saying?" Garen and Shyvana, the last two Demacian Champions at the League, looked at one another in the dim light of Garen's room. Garen's skin was ashen gray.

His sister, his prince — all as good as dirt from this man's hands. Ryland, the meek Support, now tall and straight-spined. His and Ezreal's charming smiles were lies. All of it was lies.

"I don't know." Shyvana's voice was empty. She felt a small ember of belief in Ryland's speech burning in her chest and longed to extinguish it. It burned the way Jarvan IV's absence did. Painfully, with no respite in sight.

"Noxus, too, dreamt of a distant age. A golden age. One of finery, wealth, music, happiness. Yet, unlike the dead heap of stone Demacia worships, tales of Noxus' golden age live and breathe. They dance from tongue to tongue, across paper. They thrive in everyday discourse."

Ryland's eyes flashed. His voice deepened, thundered over the Noxian military. Most of the men had their palms over their hearts.

"It is this — the life of Noxus — that brings your golden age back to stand before you today. Alive."

Cheers erupted immediately. Roars of joy and triumph. The rain swept downward.

In the Noxian palace, ringed around a large 'screen, Jayce, Erin, the Doves, Malcolm, Kat and Darius watched. Katarina sniffled when everyone started cheering.

"Oh, come on, Kat. Don't cry." Darius held her tight. She buried her nose in his shoulder and sobbed.

The Doves were all squeezing one another, a snowdrift of gold hair and blue eyes, a ball of whispered, windchime language praising their king.

Erin sniveled, then started crying too. Jayce stroked her hair, rubbed her stomach. He didn't want to admit it, but seeing her emotionally vulnerable like this was kinda cute. And he really liked babying her. _I really hope you feel better soon, though. Poor thing. _

Malcolm squinted at the screen and muttered under his breath. "Hmph. Don't care what y'all say. Lightboy's still gay as hell. Lookit how he's standing."

The truth was, Malcolm felt like Ryland's words were moving him. He hated that. He didn't belong to no country. Then he saw that weird, beautiful blonde woman clutching a frayed photo album, tears pouring down her white cheeks.

"Aww. C'mere, sweetheart." Malcolm instinctively draped an arm over her shoulders, looked down and felt like he'd been punched in his stomach. The photo of Ryland addressing his men — old, stained, grayed — was nearly identical to the shot on the viewscreen. _Well. Damn. _He glanced back at the 'screen, saw Lightboy's smile, and sighed. _Gods save the king, I reckon. _

As for Cressida — she remembered King Ryland I stumbling over her singing in his vast gardens, four-hundred years prior.

_Almost enough to make a man convert, an angel like you treading the earth. _

_I'd thought a king'd have a better line, truly. _

A shy smile and a blush. _Pretty girls make me lose my tongue. _

She clutched the album and cried harder.

"And not merely your golden age, but its dearest emissary. King Ryland is Noxus' myth, the legend. But Caelyn Falin is its hero. You'll be hard pressed to find a soul as pure as his, who adores Noxus from its basest corners to the tips of its cathedrals. And you'll be hard pressed to find a Noxian who believed his death to be just."

_I still don't know why he killed himself, _Ryland thought randomly. _I really — I should probably ask. _But it mattered not. Caelyn lived.

"That is why it is my deepest pleasure to have him by my side, to have his unbreakable fealty pledged to me. To know his service — as terribly mistreated as it was — was not in vain."

Ryland turned to Caelyn. His cheeks were vibrant pink, his eyes wide and dark with awe, his red-gold hair plastered to his ears. Ryland reached for his mind and almost blacked out from joy.

_Can you speak?_

_AYE SIR! _

Caelyn Falin stepped forward, face carefully solemn. _MUST NOT PURR. DAMNIT. _

And that's when Demacia in the Northern World — and Death's Kingdom, the Haven in the Southern World — froze. The boy wasn't as muscular as he was before, and his eyes were somehow even wilder, but it was Caelyn. Pride of the Doves, Voice of Noxus, Death of Demacia.

His Majesty wanted a good speech and so he'd have it.

"Your king speaks true. Here I am. I —" Caelyn's voice threatened to crack. "I missed you."

_We missed you too, _Noxus seemed to say. _Missed you and Ryland both. _

Demacia thought, _We sure as hell didn't miss you. _

"No," King Jarvan III said, from his throne. He could feel the panic threatening to explode in the streets outside. His voice echoed in his courtroom, though his voice was low. Already his men and women were turning to him for answers. "Unacceptable."

In the Haven, the angels projected Ryland's image on the city walls. Aven pressed his face to the window of the Golden Spire so hard the bars left bright red stripes on his face. He squinted, heart thudding. "Ahhhh. Ryland be so handsome. Though this new fella's awful interestin'. Come look, Luxie."

"Hmm?" Luxanna rested her chin on Aven's shoulder, looked, choked and gasped. "No. No no no no —"

The Battle Saints and angels watched, stoic and silent.

"One of the most important parts of His Majesty's speech concerns truth. He is correct, of course — the men of Noxus have no issue believing the truth with our hearts. Unlike the golden-haired beasts who manufacture reality, try to polish it — we Noxians simply observe and embrace it. We embrace the truth, no matter how fearful, ugly, shameful or unsettling it may be."

It was subconscious, but Caelyn held his hands before him and examined them. The water made the scars darker. Black. Then he clenched his fingers into fists.

"It is this that distinguishes our country from all others the most. In so saying, Noxus warmly welcomes Ezreal Lightbringer and Jayce Varden to their new home."

There was loud applause. Cait and Vi pawed at each other, panicked.

In the Southern World, Lux drew in a deep breath and hacked it out. She clawed at her throat. "No! Ezreal — I knew he was changing you! Oh my _gods _—"

Aven lifted an eyebrow and _harrumphed. _

Caelyn continued, "As their country renounced them, the shining stars of their land, Sir Ezreal and Sir Jayce have renounced it. And we certainly have no problem welcoming such accomplished people into our midst. We'll discuss this matter with Piltover, if they so wish…" He let his voice fade, then cracked his knuckles. "But important though this is, it is not entirely why we stand before you."

He began to pace, his toes digging into his boots. _Can't slip and embarrass Sir and His Majesty. _Every eye watched him move back and forth.

"For three long years I was imprisoned by the Battle Saints of Demacia — the very ones I killed. Though I crave to renounce my blood, Demacia still flows within me. It is, as King Ryland intimated, my inheritance.

"So to the Haven I was sent. A — not entirely unjustified experience. But rather unpleasant. I suppose it was a bit much to expect them to have my favorite brand of soda."

Caelyn tapped his temple and squinted. _Oops. I just said that aloud._ He was accustomed to that thought, though. It happened at least once a speech. There was a ripple of quiet laughter.

On a separate viewscreen, King Jarvan IV watched Garen and Shyvana's eyes fill with fear. He had to say something. "He's lost his mind. Had to have."

"_He shouldn't have a mind to lose! He's dead!" _The smaller 'screen was of poorer quality, but Garen's anguish came through loud and clear.

Caelyn said, "Anyway. King Ryland deemed me fit to save, and for that he has my everlasting gratitude. It is to the Haven, my prison, that this war takes us. In their _sublime arrogance _—" The words rang from ear to ear. " — the Archangels have captured Ezreal _Sit'ra's _princess, Luxanna Crownguard, and are holding her captive."

When Lux heard these words, her burning gasps stopped. She became very silent. Aven glanced over his shoulder, concerned. "Madam?"

"He's. He's." The word seemed to have no meaning. Then she couldn't speak. The world vanished in a sudden choking wave of a white static. She fainted.

" — and they hold captive King Ryland's consort, Aven Lightbringer. But as noble as love may be, there is yet another greater cause for our action. Luxanna Crownguard is the Angel of Peace —"

_What? _Ryland and Ezreal thought simultaneously. They saw Demetrius look to them and shake his head slightly.

" — and Aven Lightbringer, the first Willow-Dove, the Sparrow, is the God of Creation. So long as the Haven keeps him, all is in danger." Caelyn paused for a breath, then said, "This is the truth you must understand with your hearts. Noxus can understand it, and so we must. We've got to get them back."

He paused.

Caelyn Falin, baptized in blood and currently in rain, fallen in ash, risen in flames-to-be, surveyed the men. _I missed them. Sir, Noxus, then the men. It's wonderful. Noxus, the King, and Sir. All wonderful. _

"And so we will reclaim them. As we must."

He stepped back.

There was another long silence. Then Demetrius Falin cleared his throat and said cheerfully, "There will be a press conference at eight in the evening. That's all."

Then the crowd broke, as did the clouds. Rain gushed to the ground, and the military erupted into rumbling voices.

* * *

Aven watched the Haven flood with chaos. _Ugh. Luxie's worried about being m'brother's princess. Meanwhile I'm apparently a godsdamned Willow-Dove. A'least she's not a slave. Though — I s'pose if Sir Ryland wants it t'be like that…_

He sat next to Lux on the bed and splashed her pulse points with cool water. The tips of his ears burned pink, his green eyes wide and dark and moonstruck.

_Not as if I be movin' from his and Skylan's arms for at least a week or three. Ah. Means I can get m'feet and chest rubbed at the same time. _He smiled and blushed harder. _That'll be nice. _

And so the God of Creation pondered having his feet rubbed while two countries in two different worlds erupted with panic and another country readied itself to strike.

* * *

_Part Four _

Demetrius Falin looked down at the rain-wet face of his Willow-Dove, who was scowling up at him. The water brought out Caelyn's freckles and eyelashes, turned his hair to a dark gold.

"Yes?"

"You always ruin it with the press conference thing, sir," Caelyn grumbled.

Demetrius smiled. He was completely unaware of all the soldiers watching them. "Oh, really?"

"Aye. I've got everyone excited, then reality comes rushing back in. I — ahhhhh." He hadn't noticed Demetrius' fingers creep to the spot behind his left ear and scratch it. Caelyn collapsed against him, eyes half-closed, lips parted.

_That's him, _the soldiers said to one another, laughing and shaking their heads. _Good old Foxboy. _

Demetrius' smile widened. "You were saying?" _Glad that spot's still the same. _

"I — I can't recall." Caelyn's voice was dreamy and distant.

"Which means what, exactly?" Demetrius shifted his fingers beneath Caelyn's chin, lifted it and watched roses bloom in his cheeks. Pink ones, not blue. Thankfully.

"I — ah." He bit his lip, then shivered. "I don't recall that, either."

Demetrius patted his head. "Means it's not important, right?"

"Yes, sir." Caelyn closed his eyes in bliss. The purring made their armor rattle together.

Demetrius looked up to see Skylan and Oliver watching intently. "What, gentlemen?"

"I — nothing. Nope." Oliver turned away, blushing furiously. "Nope nope nope." Skylan grimaced and shook his head.

_All of King Ryland's men are completely and utterly insane, _Demetrius thought. _No wonder I fit in so well._

Ezreal jogged over, clumsy in black armor he never wore, dark eyes darting from one person to another. It was difficult to tell what disturbed him more — Caelyn in Demetrius' arms, Oliver's presence or the speech just now. "Angel of Peace? What?"

"They aren't going to rescue a Demacian princess without some greater cause than you owning her." Demetrius' tone was dismissive, as if he and Caelyn had planned it. They hadn't, of course. They never did. But the Tactician had learned long ago to bluff.

The word _own _didn't faze Ezreal in the slightest. "But —"

"Isn't it kinda true, anyway?" King Ryland joined them, elated. "She makes you happy, you're the God of Destruction. Therefore she equals peace. And you say she looks like an angel."

"She does," Caelyn said softly, wincing when Demetrius squeezed his jaw.

_You'll eventually have to let your obsession with her go, child. _

_I only need you anyway, sir. _Caelyn kissed the palm of his hand.

Ryland coughed to draw attention away from them. "Isn't that right, Ez?"

Ezreal considered his friend through the rain. They were both soaked. Everyone was.

_Just like that old story says, strap on black armor and go save the princess…_

Then he smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Then Ezreal hugged Ryland tight. Then tighter. _Ta - aikah. _

* * *

And so the preparations intensified. Jayce of Noxus had a long, swear-filled talk — more of a tirade — with Caitlyn of Piltover, the gist of which was _I was trying to save the world, fuck you. _He hung up on her. Erinae, on his lap the whole time, rolled over, blinked up at him, then called him a cranky-ass. He cried and she got worried that she'd passed her period to him. Like a cold. Then he laughed and cried harder.

Oliver and Caelyn practiced sparring in the castle's courtyard. The Generals all watched as Oliver was utterly defeated again and again. Dar Regale didn't win a single match. Not even the first one, when the sword wavered out of Caelyn's hand. Not even when he was top of his form and Caelyn clearly wasn't. He really wanted to win, if only to impress His Majesty. But there was no chance.

"And you were_ really_ Garamond's best student?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?" Those strange pale eyes narrowed.

"Yes, sir."

_Sir, _Oliver called him, though Caelyn only came up to his middle rib and had shoulders one half his' size.

Ryland was very hands-on with the planning. Once Ez realized they'd get to hang out if he helped, he was too. A lot of it was a simple census. Meeting people in their Division Headquarters, in the courtyard of the palace.

King Ryland II's genuine adoration of his military almost overwhelmed him. Sometimes, after they left a detachment who all hugged him, he looked at the sky for a long, long time. "Those strangers were nicer to me than my own mother."

"Told you you were a cool guy, King Ryland." Ezreal squeezed his shoulder.

And when the Doves pressured them to sleep — _You must rest, Sit'ra, even gods need sleep, kings too _— Ezreal and Ryland lay side by side, thinking of Lux or Aven, then of each other. Ryland always fell asleep first. Ezreal would watch him, watch the way his eyelashes were still long and dark how his breaths were still shallow. Would watch him and think _Save him. I get to save him soon. _

As for Demetrius, who was planning the strike to save Valoran — all Valorans, actually — he felt at peace. He worked in eight hour shifts, drawing and color-coding plans, drafting lists, thinking of the most likely way to get the Captains to _actually read the godsdamned orders _instead of just skimming them. When he was thinking, he rested his chin on his hand and watched Caelyn and Oliver spar through the window. The boy's technique was back to perfect in no time.

His Dove's seamless transition from pet to lethal animal and back again was captivating to Demetrius — always had been. He particularly enjoyed the feral snarl on Caelyn's face, knowing it could be replaced with a shy blush at Demetrius' own slightest suggestion.

Ryland appeared every four hours for an update. Unlike Jericho Swain's, these visits were not annoying. Ryland was clearly very bright. He had Demetrius walk him through the plans, his questions always courteous and polite.

At the end of one of these visits, Demetrius accidentally patted him on the head.

_Oh dear. I forgot he wasn't Caelyn. _

But Ryland didn't mind. He leaned into Demetrius' palm, then onto his shoulder. The Tactician held him. Before he knew it, they were both asleep.

An hour later, Ezreal and Caelyn arrived in the study at the same time, exchanged glances, then coughed loudly. All agreed the four of them should take the evening off.

_The plans are almost done regardless…_

When Demetrius and Caelyn curled up in bed, Caelyn murmured, _Those Skylan and Oliver fellows are a bit strange whenever they talk to me. _

Demetrius sighed _I'll bet they are_ while thinking _They can't have you. _

As for Malcolm, he spent long afternoons with Cressida. They listened to one another talk about their past lives — both equally distant — and when she took his hand on the sixth day and led him towards a bedroom, he didn't resist.

Lastly, the Doves —

The kitchens were packed, crowded, burning hot, the laundry room dark and reeking with sweat both nervous and otherwise. But the looming fight only cheered them — the brilliant smiles on their faces were genuine, as were the softer ones when the Generals held them close…

_King Ryland, Caelyn, Aven, Sit'ra. All will be well._

And thus the Wheel turned for two weeks, towards its ultimate fate.

* * *

Part Five

The day of _ta - kitair_ dawned at last. A white-violet dawn, softly hued and delicate. It contrasted mightily with the ocean of harsh black armor engulfing the palace.

Jayce leaned on his window balcony in his pajama pants, feeling a pit open up in his stomach. Where the wall of the castle gardens was supposed to be — was the Haven instead. A vast, glowing portal to another world. The edges of it were lined in silver. It hummed and sang and chimed in the weak light. It was strange to be able to look over another world and at the roofs of the houses of Noxus, stranger still to see Ezreal (_I babysat that kid_) on a big black horse, dressed like one of Ryland I's Black Knights.

The quiet air had a light chill to it. Erinae stood in her own pajama shorts — a little too short for Jayce's liking — and purple tanktop, leaning on the railing. "Reminds me of pizza."

"What?" Jayce looked down at her.

"Dunno. Gonna be mad if Foxboy doesn't come home, though." She yawned sleepily and leaned against him.

"Yeah. He'll be fine." _I hope they all will be. _He heard Ryland's quiet voice offering words of encouragement to his troops. Then the Commanders were calling strange, high-pitched, coarse syllables, and the men were forming into blocks. The horses' hooves clicked briskly. Jayce watched the banners get hoisted. The one with the fox in the middle, then two of Noxus' new flag on either side. _Wonder how Swain feels about all this. _

The door behind them opened. Malcolm Graves stepped through it, a bright red hickey on his neck. No, not a hickey. A bite. He saw Jayce looking and grunted. "Vampire bitch got me good."

"Good morning to you too." Jayce snorted.

"Yar. Didn't mind. Maybe this country ain't so bad."

"It's going to be if these guys lose." Erinae looked suddenly sad. "Poor little Foxboy. You know he never wanted to be in the army?"

Jayce watched Ezreal sit up straighter and look at Ryland. Ryland looked at him. He watched Demetrius cup Caelyn's chin and kiss him, saw Ezreal wince.

Then there were a few more loud calls. Everyone was very still.

Then the Noxian military moved forward as one into the portal and was swallowed up.

"And now we wait," Jayce said, feeling cold and numb. What if they didn't come back?

Erinae was asleep on his side. He picked her up and carried her to bed.

Ryland felt Ezreal's heartrate pick up. _Lux soon. Luxanna soon._

_Aven…_The Lightbringer seemed like a dream. After all, he and Ryland still hadn't truly met. _Aven soon, too._

The air of the Southern World was warm and mild. At Ryland's back, the military seemed infinite, to stretch out like an endless shadow. The top Generals, Darius and Kat included, were tall and powerful, as were the five of them at the front. Skylan, Caelyn, Ryland, Ezreal and Oliver, from left to right.

But the nearer they came to the Haven's gates — all white marble topped with angelic statues — the smaller it all felt. _Were the gates this big the first time I was here? _Ryland wondered. He didn't know.

Saint Garamond stood before the massive double doors, waiting. His white armor gleamed brilliantly. Almost as brilliantly as Oliver dar Regale's. Teacher and student exchanged a wordless look. Then Garamond looked away.

The Saint did an admirable job of hiding his fear, but Ryland still saw it — the way his white-gloved fists clenched, the bead of crystalline sweat that formed at his temple.

Garamond's voice was small against the rising tide of darkness. "You've come for the princess, I assume."

Ryland's voice was deep and strong. "Aye, and the Lightbringer. It does no good for the Haven to harbor the God of Creation."

"And why is that?" Garamond spoke through gritted teeth, his dark blue eyes attached by invisible strings to Caelyn's fingers. The boy's fingers were tapping impatiently on the hilt of his sword.

"Aven Lightbringer belongs by my side," Ryland said, and felt Skylan tense. "It is his rightful place. I suggest you open the gates —" A flicker of shadows like birdwings. Flint-eyed archers, taking their places among the wall's stone statues. " — and not delay his fate any longer."

"Do you say so?"

"I say we'll be in those gates, regardless of your choice."

"Very well." Garamond bowed his head. Ryland felt Ezreal and Caelyn's fierce smiles. He heard Kat's sarcastic snort and Darius' quiet huff of air. The Generals White's hands adjusting on their reins, Rowan and Isaacs loosening their muscles, Raeford's sigh, Degardo roll his eyes. They all knew what was coming.

The gates creaked open. A vast expanse of dark blue armor and golden hair. Ryland watched, satisfied, as the Demacians' navy and cerulean eyes filled with horror. His last words to Garamond rose into the air.

"So be it."

And the two armies charged — _ta - aikah._

It was like fighting in a dream for most of the Noxians. It was impossible not to think, _Haven't I killed this one before? What about this one? _Noxus poured through the gates, unstoppable, pushing the Demacians back. They fought them through the Haven's boarded-up streets, forced them into their marketplaces and alleyways.

The entire city was consumed by fighting. Chaos. Windows shattered. Men fell and bled and died, almost none of them Noxian. The lion statues were spotted by blood, the streets by broken glass and armor. The Noxians tried to carve a path towards the Golden Spire for Ryland and his entourage. The Demacians tried to stop them.

The archers took aim at Skylan, one of the largest targets, and he sent their arrows whizzing back at them with Empath without a thought. The bolts knocked most of them off the wall. He could feel Aven near. A beacon. Nothing else mattered.

Ezreal had to force himself to take his eyes off it. The Golden Spire. It rose into the heavens. Beautiful, brilliant, the perfect place to imprison his angel Luxanna. When a Demacian almost hacked his foot off, he finally quit looking.

He was contented by hurling little blue orbs of Pulsefire around him, disintegrating the Demacians' shields. He didn't want to kill any of them if it could be helped. Ryland understood — he wasn't really killing anyone yet, either. It wasn't that different from the League.

_Besides, _Ryland had said to him. _This is just a rescue mission. I — the less we can kill —_

_We're gonna end up killing a lot of them. I can feel it. _

_Maybe not, _Ryland said, but he was lying. He felt it too.

Caelyn was genuinely worried that this would be the entire battle. He covered his mouth for a yawn and lopped off an assailant's right arm, then stopped a swordsman from bearing down on Ryland's horse. The trail behind him was littered with bloody limbs and twitching digits. _Looks like their armor's still got the same damn flaws — flexible parts still aren't reinforced. _He jammed his blade through two necks and a forehead, bored.

"King Ryland," Charles White called above the fray. "This —"

"Is too simple?" Ryland winced and deflected a strike with silver light.

"Aye."

"Not for long," Darius shouted. These soldiers — were they townspeople forced into the battle? He thought so. They had no form, grace, prowess. _No wonder we hate Demacians._ He'd forgotten about Caelyn's involuntary service. "I promise you."

Darius was right. As was Demetrius, who had planned on the Haven using this tactic. As King Ryland II and his men rounded a bend in the main road, there stood thirty Battle Saints at the foot of the largest cathedral. The entrance to the Golden Spire was on the street behind it.

Just as Demetrius had anticipated. _They'll have a weak force to meet you with, to draw you in and try to make you overconfident, or at least uneasy. Then they'll have one strong display of force likely waiting for your people specifically, sire. _

_How the holy fuck did he know that? _Ryland wondered, half-closing his eyes against the shine of white armor. Armor that would soon be stained red with gore.

Caelyn chuckled and called over the shouts of the soldiers and the dying, "About time you lot showed up! Your people are being gutted like hogs back there! Wouldn't want you to miss it!"

Ezreal grabbed Ryland's hand and squeezed it. Their horses were prancing uneasily. The buildings surrounding them were very tall. And, Ryland saw, bristling with Eagles and archers. He and Ez were surrounded, encompassed entirely.

It was about to get bad — the Noxian army was cut off from their king by a suddenly-appearing blockade of skilled swordsmen. There were about forty of them alone in the middle of — what — a thousand? Two?

Ryland felt his mouth go dry.

His calm conversations with the Tactician hadn't prepared him for reality. Heavy breathing in his ears, horses' soft whickering. Everything else seemed far away.

_Oh, fuck. I'm not the king. I can't be. I'm scared. _

Garamond — the one at the gate had been an angelic projection — raised his sword. This one's eyes glittered with defiant determination. "There is still time for all of you to repent of your sins!"

Caelyn cackled. The Battle Saints winced. "Sins? I see no sin here. Besides, never understood what was so wrong with liking dick anyway."

General Charles White shook his head. The rest of the Generals coughed. _That godsdamned Falin boy, I swear. _But the quip was effective — the Eagles flanking the Battle Saints were distracted.

_Ryland, _Ezreal thought to him. _Look up._

Angels prowling the top of the buildings. Their wings glittered like snow, even as a cloud eclipsed the sun, bathing them in shadow. The sweat on Ryland's brow cooled.

Garamond's sword remained straight. "I see doubt on King Ryland's face."

"Yeah, sure." Katarina scoffed. "Stop project your feel —"

"Surrender or we'll kill you! All of you!" Saint Sarturo Leanbranch bellowed, a blue vein visible at his temple.

Caelyn smiled a smile with four times too many bladed-teeth, with eyes red as a sunset on a black ocean. "I think not."

And so the angels folded their wings and plummeted downward, feathers flying around all of them, a storm of them. The real fighting began. The Battle Saints and Eagles charged with a multi-part roar, outnumbering them at least two-hundred to one.

_Finally. Things get interesting. _Caelyn's wolves Callum and Calfax rose from the earth and eagerly dove for the Saints' necks. The boy brought flames to cover them — the fire danced around the Noxians, but scalded the Demacians.

A few of the Saints hesitated, remembering their first deaths. Caelyn roared laughter as the buildings around them went up in red. The blaze raced up the sides of the cathedral, ringing the angels and angel statues with unholy red haloes.

"Hot enough, Garamond?"

Garamond's sword didn't waver. His eyes narrowed.

"I thought not." Caelyn snapped his fingers, and the fire went blue. The smell of flash-burnt flesh arose in Ryland's nostrils.

_Oh my gods. _It was all he could think as he shot bolts of silver from his hands. Ezreal chased them with flares of gold.

Behind him, the Generals began to clash with the Eagles. Kat leapt from her horse and onto the attackers, moving swiftly from body to body. A silver staff formed in Skylan's hand. He traced Kat's path, following her through the raging blue inferno, striking wherever she couldn't. The relief he felt from beating them was palpable.

Oliver fought fiercely too. His face was immobile as he struck at the Saints with their own technique.

"We can hold, sir!" General Raeford called. His sword blocked two strikes, then flew from his hands. But Caelyn was there and shrouded him with liquid fire. Raeford's attackers fell away, screaming and clutching at their half-melted arms. "Go!"

Ryland shook himself. _Come on, Ez. _

They plunged past the wall of fire with glances over their shoulders. It looked like the depths of hell.

_Yeah. _Ezreal laughed nervously. _I don't think this whole war thing's for me. _

_No joke. _Ryland shook his head, trying to fix his eyes. The Golden Spire, the fire, the white armor — he felt like he was going blind. _This way. _

There were more Eagles blocking the path, looking startled to see them. They hadn't counted on King Ryland making it through. Ryland took a deep breath. _The Dark Arts…_

The power flew from his fingers, snarled and wrapped itself around the Eagles' veins like vines, then snapped tight. Blood burst from their ears and eyes and noses, gushing onto the ground. A waterfall of scarlet.

Then the other half of the Battle Saints appeared and things began to go wrong. They split Ryland and Ezreal apart, striking not at them, but at their horses. Ryland struggled to break their bodies too, but couldn't. Something was putting off a dampening effect. _Their armor? _

He raised his hand and struck outward with a fan of silver. Most of them dodged it and charged him with a ferocity that didn't seem human.

_Hey. Let's back off. _Ezreal jabbed a gold-glowing hand in one of the Saints' faces.

Ryland looked at the Saints, then frowned in confusion. They were being joined by another sixty, cascading down the stairs leading to the Spire. And another sixty. White armored men flying towards them like snow flurries.

He realized, _Caelyn only killed one generation. The tradition stretches back for ages. Oh fuck. _

Then Ryland looked on them and felt his fear evaporate, replaced by kingly indignation. The stones forming the road rippled, then shot upward in harsh spikes, breaking knees and piercing feet. There was a far-away explosion as Caelyn hurled a fireball at a church-spire and brought it crashing down in a flurry of rubble and crushed bodies.

But while Ryland fought, Ezreal was routed away. He didn't know if he could control the Pulsefire II like this. He was scared. Jittery. Not nearly angry enough.

_But Lux is right there! _

The Saints still pushed him backwards.

And around them, the battle roared.

Aven Lightbringer was terrified until he saw Ryland at the spire's base.

_Ahh. S'close I can almost hug him. _His eyes darted to the quadruple pad-locked door. _Now iffin' only Skylan were here —_

He squeaked at a nearby explosion. There was a loud groaning of overstressed metal, then a crumbling roar as the building hit the ground. Luxanna covered her ears, eyes closed tight. The streets were running with blood — it was streaming in thick red viscous rivers, rolling into grates. The fire was spreading, too.

_I got t'do somethin'. Can't let me and Luxie die. T'wouldn't be proper. _He closed his eyes, breathed deep, and summoned a torrential downpour of rain. The sky blackened and flickered with blue lightning.

Caelyn looked up from beheading Sarturo Leanbranch a second time and was promptly blinded by water. "What the fuck?" he called into the rising hiss. No one could see anything through the rain and billowing steam. Irritated and scowling, Caelyn made it all burn brighter. The fog rolled and boiled around their bodies and the streets. All was lost in white.

"There. 'Least we won't die." Aven sighed and returned to watching his knight. It looked like Ryland was winning, from what Aven could tell in the fog. He was captivated by the grace of Ryland's hand movements, the sleek beauty of the white wolves he called from the Void. _Could watch this all day. T'would rather be with him, though. _

Aven squeaked again when the door was flung open with a _bang. _

Ian Lightbringer. Death, soaked to his core. The fringe of wet bangs over his eyes should've been comical, but — wasn't. Luxanna shrieked and scrambled away.

"Oh, no. None of that." The light in Ian's blue eyes was flat and dead. "You two are coming with me."

"But he's _right there!_" Aven shouted in exasperation. He fired twin bursts of green at his father. Death shunted them with Skelgarn, snatched the two blondes' thin wrists and dragged them into the rain, fog and death.

Ezreal realized with a deep flush of shame that he had to run. He Arcane Shifted away from the snarling Saints once, wobbled on his feet and watched his horse trample a few of them, then Arcane shifted again and again. Some of the sparks he left behind were blue. By the time he made it to the wall, a few were red. He flung himself at the ladder, scaled it, fingers scrabbling and slipping from the water.

Then — _ta - aikah, ta - kitair, ta - kitan. _Ezreal shoved the archer nearest him off the wall and barely heard the resulting crunch of broken bones above the screams.

He paused to contemplate the insanity. The scene was surreal — a shrilling pack of white horses bolted by, blue flame cooking through their flesh. A Noxian General took out ten Demacian foot-soldiers with one sideways strike. Another cathedral spire sailed from the sky and shattered against the ground. Two angels fluttered by, wings charred with black, eaten away, dissolved.

It was a cityscape of half-glimpsed, hulking black shadows punctuating the storm, barely visible through the steam and flame. A nightmare. _The wreck of the Wheel. _

Then Ezreal shook himself. _I've got to get to that spire, _he thought, steadying himself against a statue of an angel. He watched Caelyn and Saint Garamond duel below him, a silvery dance of blades. It was no contest. Caelyn wrenched the slick sword from Garamond's hand and plunged his own through Garamond's heart. A second time. The Wheel turned.

Ezreal watched, detached, as Caelyn tore the Saint's heart from his chest and ate it, panting. Then Caelyn looked up, startled. His pupils were pinpricks. Blood was rolling down his cheeks and jaw.

"Luxanna? M'lady?"

_What? _Ezreal squinted and felt his own heart leap. It was her, her hair wild, in a dark blue dress flapping wetly against her slim legs like a damp sail, her eyes dark with terror, face pale and thin. His angel. Sanity in this wasteland.

_Finally. I can get her and hold her. We might even try for another child. She can hold me, even. We'll be together and happy. _

Overjoyed, he called her name, too: "Lux!"

Her eyes darted around for him. Ezreal saw too late Ian holding her arm, too late his brother's wide green eyes. Death found Ezreal's gaze through the fog and grinned.

_Goodbye to this godsdamned Wheel. Ta - kitan, you miserable slaves. _

Before Ezreal could react, Ian Lightbringer sent Aven hurtling to the ground, one or two of his bones breaking with a _crack. _He dug a switch-blade from his pocket.

And as Ezreal watched, Ian Lightbringer plunged the knife into Luxanna's heart.

_Ta - aikah. _

* * *

Part Six 

Ezreal watched, crouched beneath the stone angel's wing in black armor. He watched Lux's pale lips open, then saw the blood spill past them, over them, leaking down the front of her dark blue dress. Too many times had she been in his grasp, and too many times had she been taken away.

He watched Ian hurl her to the ground — she fell to it limply, lifeless. And he watched Aven struggle upward, bruised and bleeding, but alive.

Alive.

The scrawny, pathetic, obnoxious weak godsdamned excuse of a god was alive and Lux was dead. Again.

He saw his father's white smile and laughing blue eyes and didn't care.

_Come, Sunchild. _

Lost in the fog, there was nothing to stop him.

_Come Sunchild. Burn. _

A dull red enveloped Ezreal's hands. Caelyn ran. Aven tried to, but Ian seized him by his neck and held him upward.

"Come on!" Death shouted into the steam and chaos. "Do it!"

So Ezreal did.

It was like the sun fallen to earth, and brighter. It was a hot, throbbing volcanic-red pillar of untamed ferocity. It was the white-hot rage stirring in Ezreal's chest given form and shape, slicing through the gray. Justice. Righteousness. All uncertainty burned away. He sent it, hurled it, channeled it into the heart of the Lightbringer.

Or so he thought.

Ezreal looked up past the red and saw a shield. A black shield outlined with Aurora colors. Glowing greens, soft purples, all edging black as deep and perfect as midnight.

_Must be Skylan's, _Ezreal thought dimly. _Oh well. Aven was his favorite anyway. _

Then he noticed the Guardian standing aghast a little ways away, in the growing crowd of Generals. Gaping.

_Yeah. Sorry for killing y - wait. _

The red continued to surge.

Aven Lightbringer cracked one eye open. There he was at last, in the steam, the rain, the light. Almost near enough to touch. Ryland's strong, heroic, lithe form, handsome in black armor. A shield emanating from his fingers, light and dark combined. His silver-green eyes burned with determination, his dark hair unruly with rain and sweat. A king.

_My stars. He really is beautiful. So beautiful. _

Then Aven saw the flaws in the shield. Ugly, hateful red piercing the dark and the light. Ryland's jaw clenched as the cracks spread.

The shield broke. It splintered with a sound of high, shattering glass. The Wheel turns.

King Ryland II, Ryland Falin, Michael Whitefield — his body absorbed the waterfall of red light. For it was his darkness and hollowness that allowed Ezreal to live. It emptied into him and filled the chasm in a flare of red glory.

Ryland collapsed with a painful gasp, twitching in the rain.

_Save him, Sunchild, save him. Save him, Destroyer. _

The voice was mocking. Ezreal looked at his hands and whispered, "No."

Ryland had no soul. _He can't die_. No one could save him if he did. He — _He can't leave me. I've got to save him. _

"No!" Aven shouted. He clawed his way to Ryland's side and whispered an Ionian healer's prayer. A forbidden one. For though the Dark Arts can bring back the dead, the light finds such a thing unnatural.

Still more light surged into Ryland. But it was being — pulled. Yanked. The darkness in him was sucking the light from Aven's soul. Absorbing it into nothingness. Devouring it the way black holes heedlessly swallowed stars.

The Lightbringer fell on Ryland's chest, panting and sobbing. Rain mingled with his tears.

"Aven!" Skylan's voice shook the ground. He ran to them and clawed for Aven, but they were inseparable, even with the Guardian's enormous strength. The Aurora-light bound them together.

Nothing could stop the channel. Aven was dying — he and Ryland were never meant to have met.

But met they had.

Ryland's consciousness was fading. He opened his eyes to see Aven's frantic green ones hovering an inch away from his.

_Aven continued illuminating Ryland's fears until the Healer's mind was a symphony of light, a glowing cathedral made of the Aurora's softly shifting colors. Oceanic blue for the windows. Floors of gold, chandeliers the color of the moon and forest. _

_And the colors brightened and darkened and mingled together. Ryland looked around, feeling the light drenching him, pouring into his soul. It was slowly driving the fear and sadness away._

"_There be beauty in all, Ryland."_

"_Why are you doing this for me?"_

_Aven paused. "Mayhap a bit early for this, but I love thee." _

"_Oh. I love you, too." _

Forever later, black-armored King Ryland lay on the blood and rain soaked pavement in the Haven. His consciousness faded farther, but he still felt the dove-soft touch of Aven's lips against his. Welcome and warm against the cold and the dark.

_I can die happy._

Ezreal's eyes, too, were frantic. They darted from Lux's limp body in a spiraling pool of blood (_always the same, the Wheel turns, ta - aikah_), to the Generals' accusatory glares, to — to Ryland. _No. Save him. They've got to love me if I save the Wheel. _

"Pity!" Death called with a little laugh. "I didn't even have to do my job."

_Alone. I can't be alone again. _Ezreal panicked.

"And so my creation dies. All of you were far more foolish than the Demacians. At least the Archangels were real. Your _King Ryland _was nothing more than emptiness given a handsome face. Now hurry up and die, already."

Save him. He can't leave me. Save him.

_I love thee, moon son. _The Lightbringer clutched for the precious remnants of Ryland's fading mind. Aven wanted to tell Ryland they'd meet in another world, but he knew they wouldn't. He'd be gone. Aven would be, too. Everyone would. Nothing but black.

Ryland smiled. _I love you, too. _

"No!" Ezreal roared. The red poured down his cheeks. "I'll save you!"

Ian laughed. "No you won —"

"_Stop!" _Ezreal Sit'ra called.

And the Wheel — stopped.


	12. Ta - Kitan (The End)

Ian Lightbringer looked around. Only he and Ezreal were moving. Even the fog was still, a pallid white layer smeared atop everything.

"What did you do, son? Just what the fuck did you do?"

Ezreal didn't answer. He hurled himself at Death, teeth bared, red-burning hands clutching for Ian's throat. Ian Arcane Shifted away. Ezreal followed him. Two clouds of golden sparks flickering past one another, over halted bodies, between crossed swords.

Death sent a few black pillars made of writhing Skelgarn towards his son. He deflected them and sprang closer. Death shoved him away. He scrambled backwards, panting in the white, noiseless fog.

He spat and spoke. "Look! All things have to die! Everything has to leave! The Wheel always turns!" Ian clenched his fists.

Ezreal was wrapped in a glow the color of summer sunrises, eyes shining with red.

"Everything dies! Even Ryland!"

"I won't let him." Ezreal's voice rang with finality. "You can't have him. Stop trying to take him. He's mine."

He hurled a crimson bolt. Death dodged it, stumbling over a Demacian footsoldier's wide-eyed corpse. He was abruptly furious. No one but him had ever stopped a Wheel before. No one but Death himself.

"Look!"

"No." Another bolt of red.

"Everything —"

"No." A larger bolt of red, harder to dodge. Ian's knees bowed. He fell against the body of a white horse. The blank, dead eyes startled him. Ezreal stood over him, clutching a scarlet beam of Pulsefire II in his right hand.

"Dies. Everything dies." Ian's chest heaved. "Why can't y' and your damn mother understand? It's how things work. It just is. I'm not evil. I'm part — I'm part of the cycle. Everything dies. It has to."

"Everything, huh?" Ezreal half-smiled, though inside he was a raging tempest, the nexus of a black storm. The scars on his cheeks winked gold against the white fog. "Everything."

Ian eyed the red bolt in Ezreal's hand. The time for explanation was over.

With a sound of thunder, Death spilled from his human form. Darkness choked the sky. The buildings around Ezreal began to crumble and fall, a senseless tantrum. Ezreal stood still as his mind was battered by his worst fears.

Of being alone.

_After Michael could speak again, he reached for Ezreal's hand and shook it. The dark eyes never left Ezreal's face. _

"_Guess they weren't kidding after all," Michael said. "I'm glad to meet you."_

"_Pleased to meet you, too, though I kind of wish they'd been kidding."_

Of being the Destroyer, of killing the Wheel. Of hurting Lux. He listened to the hideous sound of breaking glass and stone and closed his eyes.

"EZREAL —"

More thunder.

"EVERYTHING —"

A gale arising.

"MUST —"

Glass being swirled into the wind, a senseless typhoon with jagged edges. It was spiraling towards him, sweeping towards him, threatening to slash him apart.

"DIE."

_Even you, _Ezreal thought. The red rose from his body — the wings of a phoenix. It expanded. A Supernova. It covered building and body, scared Demacian and valiant Noxian, Caelyn and Lux, Aven and Skylan alike.

The Aurora would have everyone believe it was the fierce love in Ezreal's heart, but as Noxus would say: _Embrace the actual truth._

It was love, aye, but it was also jealousy, hatred, possessiveness, rage and fear. It was loneliness and despair. And somewhere in this maelstrom lay the longing for Luxanna's love, the craving to save Ryland Falin, and Ezreal's hopeless adoration of them both.

_All things die. Even you. _

* * *

Ian Lightbringer opened his eyes. A cabin. "Wh —"

"We got booted clear to a different Wheel." Liliana sighed heavily, came carrying a bowl of warm soup to him and rested it on his chest. "Clear t' a damn different Wheel. Goodbye heaven palace. Hello home cookin'. Ah well. Always wanted t'learn t'cook."

Ian — no longer Death, so now seen and known — slowly shook his ringing head. Somewhere, a kettle was whistling. There were trees rustling outside. "What happened?"

"Y'pissed him off, dummy. Y'son. He blew us away." Liliana eyed him. He examined her right back, still tired beyond weariness. The former goddess had on an apron dusted with flour, auburn hair loose and unbound and messy, a dull cast to her green eyes. "We be mortals now."

"Mortals?"

"Aye. There be different gods here." Liliana scowled. "And not a one of them gives a damn about us. Startin' to understand how all them people felt."

"Mortals," Ian breathed. "Really."

"Aye. I'm still y'damn wife, though. T'is what I get f'wantin' children." Liliana — no longer the Aurora — had a cold sore on her lip. Her hands were cracked and cold and worn from constant washing, her hips fatter than they had been, her thighs rounded beneath the simple blue home-spun skirt.

Ian thought she'd never looked lovelier.

* * *

Ryland opened his eyes. "This is a dream, isn't it? Or a Fugue. A happy one."

Aven Lightbringer was sprawled across Ryland's black-armored chest, his cheek smeared with blood, snoring softly.

_He'll vanish. He'll disappear when I touch him._

Ryland reached out, hesitantly, then let his hand settle on the back of Aven's neck. The Lightbringer smiled slightly and purred.

The Demacians were retreating. The Noxians watched them go. Ryland collapsed backwards, weak with relief. _He's so handsome. _He hesitated, then kissed him again. And again. Aven woke up in the middle of one of these and broke it, nuzzling Ryland's neck.

_Finally, moon son. Good gods a'mighty. _

"Aven?" Skylan scowled down at both of them. Aven stumbled to his feet and squeezed him tight. Ryland followed.

They watched as the light of the Aurora slowly encompassed Aven's body. Then it reached out and enveloped their own, the King and the Guardian's. The light wavered gently. Softly. Ryland's eyes met Skylan's equally confused ones.

The Noxian Generals watching bowed their heads. They realized what was happening before Ryland and Skylan did.

_A soul. Their souls. _

The light entering them wasn't harsh or desperate now, but loving and gentle. Aven smiled up at Ryland.

_I love thee, _Aven thought to him, and intertwined his small fingers with the King's larger ones. For Ryland Falin, among the Noxian Generals and ruins of the Haven, all was well.

Ezreal watched from afar. Watched Ryland be saved.

_Alone. _

He turned away. He'd be alone, but if that's what saving Ryland meant, he'd bear it. _I saved him. I saved the Wheel. If I love Ryland, I'll do whatever it takes. _

Then he looked up. The glistening ribbons of the Aurora — they were fading into a familiar shape. A familiar shape in the formless fog.

Luxanna's bright blue eyes opened wide. Her stomach was swollen with life, her cheeks pink with health.

"Ezreal?"

And as the Noxians rejoiced, as Ryland was saved, the Destroyer ran to his princess and took her in his arms.

_The End _


	13. Epilogue

Jayce didn't care. Life in Noxus — even after he embraced it — was strange.

He often thought so when he heard the Doves deeply debating the merits of one homemade noodle recipe over another, or watched them have knitting circles. Or when he saw Ryland kiss Aven in the castle courtyard. When the Lightbringer tried to pull away, Ryland held him tighter, black-gloved hand splayed across Aven's little jaw.

_That…looks a lot like sexual assault. _

But in Noxus, things were different.

He knew this for certain when he overheard Skylan and Demetrius talking over coffee. Though it was prettily decorated in spring green and white, illuminated by a stained-glass window depicting the Tree of Life, no one knew why this particular sitting room was the coffee room — just that the Generals stopped here for drink in the morning.

Everyone did, actually. It wasn't uncommon to see Kat bitching at Cressida and Cressida smiling over cups of the fragrant brew. Malcolm and Cressida sat shoulder to shoulder and talked quietly.

The Doves — usually Ryan and Wren White, who got up early naturally — had already memorized the way everyone liked their coffee. Jayce wasn't surprised when he got a dollop of maple syrup on morning. He hadn't said anything. Only thought about it.

"…got to be gentle with him at first," Demetrius was saying. "Very gentle. It is a gradual descent."

A heavy sigh. "I just get so — impatient."

_I really hope they're not talking about what I think they are, _Jayce thought, chugging his own coffee and looking at the "CHANGE IN PATENT ORIGIN" form. He'd filled out so many of those forms that he saw them in his dreams, now.

But of course they were talking about what Jayce thought they were.

"There's a certain point where he'll let you do whatever you wish," Demetrius said, stirring his coffee. "You've just got to work on reaching that point."

Then, a week later: "Yeah. It worked. But —"

"What, Sir Skylan?" Demetrius laughed.

"He's so godsdamned _loud_." Skylan scowled.

Demetrius shrugged and smiled. "Duct tape fixes everything. Isn't that what the Pilts say?"

"That's not usually what we mean," Jayce offered. They laughed.

Nearby, Ryland was frowning. "That just seems so rude."

Demetrius scoffed. "Look out, your majesty. Your bottom side is showing."

Jayce and Skylan both choked on their coffee. Ryland turned red.

But that sort of conversation — though it would've been totally taboo in Piltover — was par for the course. Jayce usually spent his days with Skylan and Demetrius in one of the comfiest rooms, black with red accents, filling out mountains and mountains of paperwork.

Doubtlessly Ryland would've been with them, too. But he was among his people, taking surveys, listening to them, asking them about the economy and so forth. The people already loved him.

The first day they all sat down together, Jayce thought he should bitch about it. No one liked paperwork, right?

"Oh, no. I find it rather relaxing, actually. Especially after all these angels and space horses and gods." Demetrius frowned and checked a box.

Skylan flushed a little. "I never told Aven, but I like it. It's comforting."

"Yeah." Jayce blushed, too. "I never told anyone. It's embarrassing."

"But why?" Demetrius slipped his reading glasses on. "Checking boxes, filling forms — it all implies that there is indeed order in this universe."

_I never thought of it that way, _Jayce thought, looking through the window into the rain. The Doves were hopping over puddles, laughing. _But he's right. _

Order in the universe, that was, until Aven and Caelyn and Erinae dropped by.

Jayce liked Aven. He was like a cranky gay version of Ezreal with an accent, which the Defender found immensely amusing. The first day Aven visited, he said, "Y'know, Skylan, they don't have the solar-powered boats here yet."

"Really?"

"Aye. Was wonderin' why y'neglected t'tell them about them, t'tell the truth." Aven frowned, shifting from foot to foot. It was easier for Jayce to tell — maybe because he hadn't known him forever — that he was a god. There was just a strange look to Aven's green eyes, a wild beauty that clearly wasn't human.

Skylan snorted. "Well, I was a bit busy trying to save your ass, so —"

"Oh, c'mon. Science always be more important." Aven tapped Skylan's nose. "No excuses."

"No excuses? Is that why you're barefoot? Still?"

"Ryland said it's okay to be barefoot." Aven lifted his chin. "And he be the king. No shoes, he says. Royal decree."

Skylan groaned. "Go play with your Doves. I'm busy."

"They all be slaves. Just as delushy - delusional." Aven sighed before wandering off. "'Specially their Fox."

Jayce heard Aven talking to Caelyn in the gardens. Caelyn was leaning against the castle wall, elaborately casual, trying to look cool, while Aven tugged on his forearms. "Y'can't be owned! That's 'orrible!"

"I rather like it." Caelyn blushed and looked away. Aven was incredibly handsome. Being around him was worse than being with Ryan White. "Being owned, I mean."

"Y'got no rights!" Aven stared at him. "Y'serious?"

"Look. Maybe if your master —"

"Husband."

Caelyn looked at Aven, to Skylan, who was walking with Jayce and Demetrius. He looked back to Aven, then frowned. "Husband?"

"We're married. As. Equals." He jabbed a finger into Caelyn's skinny chest with each word. "Happily!"

"Did you —are you sure you read the papers?"

Demetrius saw the look on Skylan's face and roared laughter. Jayce tried not to laugh but did anyways.

_For Noxus. _

It got stranger. There was the time Jayce, Demetrius and Skylan found Erinae and Aven on top of Caelyn on a sumptuous sofa in a little-used hallway one hot, stormy day. Erinae's fangs were buried in Caelyn's neck.

The Tactician cleared his throat. "Do I even want to know what's happening?"

Aven ignored him. "See? If you had rights, Caelyn, you'd be able to tell her to stop biting you."

"I don't want her to stop," Caelyn gasped.

"That's 'cause y'be a godsdamned madman. Bite him harder, Catgirl." She obliged. Caelyn squirmed beneath them both, panting. "What the living fuck," Skylan whispered, shaking his head. "Aven! What the fuck?"

"I'm tryin' t'teach him the importance of having rights. Go 'way."

"Is that what that looks like?" Demetrius wondered mildly. "If so, he certainly didn't learn the last three-thousand times."

Caelyn looked up. "Master, please don't joke like th - ahhh —" He moaned softly. Aven covered his mouth. Erinae purred.

_It's already that time again, _Jayce thought. _We've been here for a month already. Ta - aik — no, never mind. Fuck that._

"The real question is, how the hell are you still on bottom with a twelve-year-old girl involved?" Demetrius was deeply amused.

"I'll learn him." Aven swung off the sofa and dragged Caelyn and Erinae away. The other three followed them until he slammed a door in their faces, opened it and said, "Don't even think about comin' in." Then he closed it again quietly. They heard it lock.

Demetrius shrugged. "Where to for dinner, gents?"

"That's it? We're just going to leave them?" Skylan gaped at the Tactician.

"Of course." Demetrius squeezed the Guardian's shoulder. "You've got to learn to give him freedom, too."

The Tactician was more than smart. He was scary smart. Jayce saw him coming from Luxanna's room one day, carrying a briefcase. He noticed Demetrius' shirt was damp with tears that weren't his own.

"Wait." The knowledge came to him in a flash. "You're in charge of — you're in charge of indoctrinating Lux."

Demetrius lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, that is one way of putting it."

"Oh man." Jayce swallowed hard. "This country."

"Indeed." A smile. For Demetrius, it was good to be useful again. And even better to be appreciated. The way King Ryland treated him and his Dove was absolutely wonderful. "This country indeed."

Jayce hadn't ridden with Ryland, Ezreal and Caelyn to return Jarvan IV and Quinn to Demacia. A royal vanguard met them fifty clicks away from the city walls. Ezreal and Caelyn sat up straight on their black stallions. Jarvan III accepted the prisoners gracefully, then eyed King Ryland.

"And of the lady Luxanna?"

"She will be remaining with us," Ryland said firmly. His voice held no room to argue. The king glanced once more at Caelyn, then nodded and rode away.

However, Jayce had ridden with Ryland, Ezreal and Erinae to Piltover. Piltover's University of Science met with them and tried to persuade Jayce and Ezreal to come back. Jayce could tell by the high-class catering and all the famous old dudes that they _really _wanted them back.

But the weird looks at Erinae had only pissed him off. Erinae was too busy gaping at the bookshelves, the globe, the wall-sized viewscreens, the mobiles shaped like the galaxy, the colorful toothpicks in the fancy sandwiches, the scientists' shiny shoes and just about everything else to notice the disapproving glances.

They didn't move Ezreal an inch. They almost had Jayce, then suggested he was brainwashed, being held as a political prisoner, and that that explained his actions.

_Them science-heads don't understand shit, do they, big guy? _Erinae would say later, rolling around on their hotel bed. He heard Ezreal and Ryland making fun of the longwinded political speeches in the room next to them. The Explorer and the King cackling.

No. No, the science-heads didn't understand shit.

Hence the 'CHANGE IN PATENT ORIGIN' forms. He was going back through them, redoing them all and signing them with _Jayce of Noxus_. The name had a nice balance to it.

In the present, he hesitated, then went into Lux's room. It was quiet and dim. A radio played the soft strains of _Demetrius & Caelyn_.

_That's all he is, innocence crushed by a Wheel — trampled between the spokes, beneath broken souls — shattered by unbending steel!_

_Aren't we all, _Jayce wondered. He sat on the edge of Lux's bed. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. She was draped in an enormous white-silk gown, her blankets and sheets an airy waterfall of green and brown. Her stomach was more than swollen. It was turgid.

"Hey. How are you?" He didn't know why he was whispering.

"Doing well," she said softly. Her eyes were distant and reddened from crying. "A little worried. Jayce — have you changed your citizenship?"

"Yeah."

"Did — did anyone convince you to?"

"No, but it didn't really take convincing. Erin — she's happy here. I'm happy here. Everyone's really nice." The words spilled. Jayce didn't know why. _Great. Now it sounds like _I'm _trying to convince her. _

"Ezreal's happy here, too." Her voice was soft and husky. He realized that her eyes were pale and unfixed. "You know, Oliver raped Ryland."

"Yeah. I know." He'd seen dar Regale hanging around the Doves and scared him off. None of that shit.

"Oliver. Was almost an Eagle in the afterlife. In heaven. And Caelyn was in heaven, too." Her face crumpled, but she regained herself. "Nothing makes sense."

Jayce squeezed her arm. "I know." _That's why I do paperwork. _"But Ezreal will help you."

"Yes." Her face turned to peacefulness so quickly it unnerved Jayce.

_This country. Oh man. What did they do to her?_

Her words were almost toneless. "Ezreal's wonderful. He takes care of me."

Jayce smoothed her hair. "You should sleep."

"Mm. That's what Demetrius said." She closed her eyes. "Thank you."

Jayce left.

* * *

One of the weirdest things happened two months later, towards the end of summer. He and Erinae were startled from sleep around six in the morning. There were loud voices and heavy footfalls. The Defender could tell from the way Erin burrowed into the covers that she wanted him to investigate.

He cracked the door and saw — Ryland?

_What? _

No, it looked like the old Ryland, the scared thin shaky one in tight jeans, a white shirt and shortish hair. Jayce cracked the door wider and saw the current Ryland. Ryland Falin with muscles, confidence, and Aven clinging to his waist with curious green eyes.

"Oliver!" The old Ryland dove beneath a sleepy dar Regale's arm, hiding.

For a moment there was silence in the dim hallway. Oliver was instinctively scratching beneath Michael Whitefield's chin when he realized what was happening. The noise he made was too high-pitched for someone his size. _Eep. _

King Ryland Falin's dark scowl made Jayce's body cold. "Michael Whitefield. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I - I - I -" Michael Whitefield's teeth chattered. His chest heaved. His breath hissed through a clenched jaw.

Ryland's scowl softened. "It's alright. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"N - no problem, your majesty. I remember reading Casteel White's Ionian chronicles. And — Oliver here was going out. I was hoping he'd come home soon. Uh, back to the barracks. The Noxian movie version of _Demetrius & Caelyn _had come on, the one with the good special effects, and I thought he'd like that more than the opera. Then I went to sleep and — here I am." Michael Whitefield swallowed hard. Painfully.

Ryland Falin stared at him, saw that the direct attention made him nervous and looked away. His old self's memories stopped around three years ago, right before Oliver choked him in front of the other guys. Before they all almost killed him.

So this Michael Whitefield was still in love with Oliver dar Regale, still trusted him, still thought he was handsome and noble and kind.

Then Ryland glared at Oliver. "If you hurt him, I will end you."

"Uh. Yes, sir. I mean. No, sir. I mean — Whitefield, how the hell did you get here?" Oliver hugged him tightly and heard the purring start up.

Across from Jayce, Caelyn and Demetrius exchanged glances, then closed their door.

"How did I get here?" Whitefield whispered. "How did _you _get here? Or us? We're in — in the Noxian palace!" He saw Ezreal looking at him and yawning. He turned bright red. His jaw dropped. "And why is Ezreal here? Oh, gods. This is a Fugue, isn't it?"

"No," Ryland Falin said softly, and ruffled Aven's hair. Aven leaned against his palm thoughtfully. "Oliver will take care of you. Right?"

"Yes, sir. Come here, Whitefield. Good gods, have I missed you." Oliver led him away. "Breakfast. _Now _we'll finally get you to stop looking like a godsdamned twig."

_That shouldn't have happened, _was all Jayce could think. He shook his head and went to lay beside Erin, who peered up at him sleepily. "What was it?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about it. Something weird."

_For Noxus. _

* * *

But the thing that took the weirdness cake, so to speak, was Luxanna's children.

The night she gave birth was frigid, with air that turned noses and earlobes pink and breath to fat white clouds. The castle was in chaos, filled with people running to and fro. The Doves had the kitchens blazing far past midnight.

She was silent throughout her labor, clutching Ezreal's hand. Jayce, Skylan and Demetrius — the inseparable trio now, apparently — sat next to one another in a castle sitting room, wearing heavy coats against the chill, drinking cup after cup of coffee.

"Why the hell do I feel anxious?" Demetrius rested his chin in his hand. "I'm certainly not the father."

"I do too." Skylan winced. Jayce realized, _He feels like something weird's about to happen and doesn't want to say it. _

"Oh, we already know something strange will happen. Raeford's psychic Dove Sterling refuses to look anyone in the eye." Demetrius tilted his head back. "But what?"

They knew after two long hours. Ezreal came carrying a child out, swaddled in a crimson royal blanket. The Explorer was squinting at the baby. He handed it to Skylan. "Hold this."

_Hold _this?Jayce groaned. _Come on, Ez. _

"As I feared," Skylan muttered as Ezreal vanished back into the bedroom.

"Feared what?"

"Look." Skylan puffed onto the child's face. She opened her eyes, revealing a color that was brilliant, gorgeous, and undeniably —

green.

Demetrius and Jayce froze. The Tactician coughed. "Now. Now wait a moment. Doesn't Ezreal's mother have green eyes?"

Skylan grimaced and held the child to his chest. "Aye. But if you work the genetics —"

"His kid shouldn't have them," Jayce finished, kneading his forehead.

"Curse my lack of knowledge. Why not?"

"Right. So you've got Ian and Liliana, for better or worse. One pair of green eyes, one of blue. The green either expresses itself, as in Aven's case. Or it doesn't, and you're not a carrier. And I'm going to assume a Crownguard has no green eyes in her family tree. I've never met a Demacian with green eyes who —"

"— didn't have the coloration defect," Demetrius concluded. _Like Caelyn does. Though his eyes are certainly not that shade of green regardless._

Skylan sighed heavily. "Aven and I worked it once. His eye color is incredibly rare. Or it _should be._" The last two words were an eerie growl. "This has happened before." He was thinking of Ionia nunneries.

"So did Aven fuck her? I don't understand." Jayce kneaded his temples. "She — died again. And then she came back and was pregnant. I —"

Ezreal appeared again, looking far more cheerful. He sounded faintly awed. "Everett's got my eyes."

Skylan was dumbfounded. "That's really not how that's supposed to work."

Demetrius sighed. "But wh —"

"Luxanna's not a cat. Kittens can have different fathers." The Guardian was starting to sound disturbed. "Human women —"

"Isn't he great?" Ezreal beamed. Jayce had to agree. That crop of curly gold hair — far different from the light, fluffy blonde of his counterpart — and those captivating ocean eyes. He was going to be a heartbreaker. He waltzed back into the room with Lux, leaving the girl in Skylan's arms.

They looked at her. After a moment, Demetrius stroked her hair with a half-smile. Skylan bit his lip. Jayce shook his head.

"Well. She is rather - cute."

"Yeah." Skylan frowned. "And it's about time Aven take care of one of his own, regardless."

"And I mean." Jayce coughed. "It's not like, you know - it's not like we're on our own, right?"

"Oh, no, of course not." Demetrius smiled and took the girl into his arms. That morning, Aven would name her _Morning Glory. _"The Doves will be exceptional with her. I know it."

Ryland exited Lux's room and shook his head. _I don't blame him for not wanting her. I should, but..._

Then he saw his Reflections and smiled. Whatever was going to happen, the Guardian, King, Defender and Tactician could bear it.

_For Noxus. _


	14. Author's Note

(Update 9/1/2014)

Dear friends —

I hope you have enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Your kind words have inspired me to take the plunge and try to become an author. If I have any success at all, it, like the entire story itself, is owed to you.

Please, if you enjoyed this at all, leave a review. I love to have them. And please visit **Aloice** and read her fic, **_And Light Be the Path to Home_**. An author here on , she rivals (and surpasses, in my opinion) my ability to create beauty out of tragedy. Her Ezreal is far greater than mine.

As stated, I hope you enjoyed this story. I hope you enjoy Aloice's, too, and any other ones your Wheel takes you to.

_ Ta - aikah,_

vO


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